


The Golden Cathedral

by wunkind (guysinmyhead)



Series: The Golden Cathedral [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Coming Out, End game Otayuri, F/M, I promise you, M/M, Post canon, Sports injuries, Swearing, art by Izilen, growth spurts, otayuri big bang 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-09-12 02:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16864657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guysinmyhead/pseuds/wunkind
Summary: The ice was his everything, or it had been. Some days, when he was just walking, he felt wrong. His muscles felt like they should be skating, his body craved the ice and the sensations of it. Dancing made up for some of it, but not the bulk of it, not the part he needed.“I can’t.”  He whispered. “I can’t live a life without skating. I can’t give it up.”Otabek didn’t say anything.“But I can’t give you up again either.”______Part of the Otayuri Big Bang 2018Art by Izilen





	1. Chapter 1

_ Yuri was panting in the center of the ice.  Well…not quite the center, anyway. He was a little off-center because tutoring had run overtime today and into practice hours.  Practice then ran over to compensate, so the only thing separating his little patch of ice and the little children with Mila from bumping into each other was a series of bright orange cones—surprisingly, not the mothers.  That was going to screw him in the long run, too, because he was supposed to be teaching that class.  _

 

_ As much as he hated the little brats, he needed the money and off-season was tight.  _

 

_ “Yuri, run that again—“ Yakov called.  Yuri nodded, moved to take a step forward, and face-planted. _

 

_ Fucking toe-pick.   _

 

_ Two or three kids giggled, a few gasped, one scrunched up her face and intentionally fell. _

 

_ Ugh. _

 

“Don’t laugh at me!” Yuri snapped, arms crossed.  The video feed on his laptop—a hand-me-down gift from Viktor that he’d never admit he appreciated—pixelated as Otabek moved too fast for the internet to comprehend. “I got a giant fucking bruise on my elbow for my trouble.”

 

“Sorry,”  His friend grinned at him. “It’s funny imagining you fall—hold on, video lag.”

 

“It’s been doing that the whole time, stupid, just give up.”  Yuri sighed in response. This was the first opportunity they’d had to video chat since World’s and it was  _ May _ .  Yuri should be off doing ice shows, like everyone else.  Lilia held him back because he was apparently too far behind on school work.  

 

Bullshit.  

 

Otabek, on the other hand, was actively participating in an ice show—the same one Viktor and Yuuri had taken off for almost a month prior.  It was why their schedules were so out of sync, even if distance did that anyways, and why they’d had such a difficult time calling.

 

“Anyways, you saw me fall at World’s.”  The most embarrassing free skate of his life.  He’d pulled it together to take silver to Katsuki’s gold.  His base score was too high for the fall to knock him down more than a couple of points  _ and he’d gotten the rotations  _ even if his ass was a little cold afterwards. 

 

Otabek made a noise of agreement and rubbed his eyes. They were in Paris right now, but staying in France for the rest of the week.  It meant Yuri would hear a lot more from his best friend than he had in the past month. It also meant Yuri was the one in the later time zone, so he got to make fun of him in moments like this.

 

“Didn’t get much sleep.”  Otabek explained by way of apology. Yuri empathized, skating intensely twice a day was easy for no one, add lack of sleep and he probably wouldn’t still be awake in Otabek’s shoes.  “Is the rink going to let you take on a different lesson?”

 

“Yeah, it’ll work out.” The blond assured with a slightly forced smile. Otabek raised an eyebrow in response (or maybe the video was lagging again) but didn’t ask anything else.  “It’s fine, really, it doesn’t pay a ton anyways so I’m not missing out on a ton of money or anything.”

 

It wasn’t fine, he needed that class.  The mortgage payment was due back home and his dedushka wasn’t working anymore at all.  Up until the past year, he’d been doing small jobs that wouldn’t irritate his back as much.  Plus, he needed to send food money home and hopefully have some for himself. Grandpa basically survived on potatoes and wheat so that he could stick to a diet, but truth be told he’d faltered so far off of that in the last month alone.  Lilia had him in essentially a dormitory situation with several of her dancers. He suspected, as Yakov was very genuinely an old family friend, that she was doing him a favor and paying part of the housing. He’d heard several others complaining that rent was too high, but he’d been paying about a quarter of what he’d pay for an actual apartment.  

 

The biggest downside was sharing a cooking space, but he didn’t cook much recently.

 

Fuck, he hadn’t paid the tutor yet. Add that to next week’s list.

 

“I heard your silver landed you a deal with John Wilson.”  Otabek commented. 

 

“You heard it from me.”  Yuri snorted. “I sent their post about it to you on Instagram.”

 

The other nodded, maybe he’d known that and was kidding or maybe he hadn’t. Sometimes, the Kazakh could be difficult to read, most especially when he was tired.  Otabek, for the amount he enjoyed being around people (like at clubs) didn’t like having to emotionally invest in certain interactions. Ice shows were a lot of petty interaction, it probably added to the exhaustion and drained him of all legible facial expressions. 

 

It might also just be Skype.

 

“Go to sleep.”  Yuri rolled his eyes.  “You look about dead.”

 

They said their goodbyes without a rush. The entire time, Yuri’s mind was encouraging him to tell the other teen everything that was on his mind. The John Wilson sponsorship was great because they paid for his blades. That was one less expense, except there wasn’t anyone paying for his boots. His phone bill was due the week after next, for crying out loud, and he wasn’t even sure if he’d have enough to cover Yakov and Lilia both at the end of it all.  He’d have to take up more hours at the rink, see if he could balance teaching more classes. 

 

He said none of it, just shut the laptop off after Otabek hung up and unplugged it.  Electricity was included in his “rent,” but he still was into the habit from when he lived at home.  The bed across from him in the small room was still empty and Yuri wondered if he should expect Anya to come home at all. She tended to spend nights with her boyfriend these days, some finance student at a school a few blocks away. Good for her, too, at least she didn’t have to worry about paying for food.  He knew for a fact her boyfriend was paying for everything in her part of the fridge. 

 

His stomach growled and Yuri sighed.  He’d handle it later, right now he was living on rice and cans of anything that could provide some semblance of protein. He always grabbed a granola bar at the rink when it was offered and the gym had free snacks. Yuri was surviving, even if not well.  Some people on this floor weren’t gorgeous female dancers with already-wealthy boyfriends—

 

Well…actually, in a manner of speaking most of the people on this floor were gorgeous female dancers. It ticked him off a little, as if Lilia had done it on purpose. The dorms weren’t assigned by gender technically, dancers didn’t seem to care about that sort of thing.  It was just that his floor  _ happened _ to be all girls except for himself.

 

“Fuck.”  He rubbed his eyes as his stomach growled again.  “Shut up, would you?” 

 

His roommates were all older than him anyways, Otabek’s age mostly except for one seventeen year-old, Alina, who lived in the room across the living room from his and Anya’s. She was…always making eyes at him and he tried to ignore it.  

 

“Hey, Yura?”  Anya burst through the door, hand entwined with someone else’s.

 

_ Oh.   _ The boyfriend. 

 

“Lina said it was ok if you spent the night in her, Kira, and Katya’s room.”  She at least had the decency to blush. Yuri’s eyes trailed to her boyfriend. 

 

He wasn’t  _ bad  _ looking. He had the same blue eyes half of the dudes he knew had and pale, almost-blond hair but it was a little too brown to be true-blond.  He had a jaw, kind of—

 

No.  He was a thumb. He looked like a literal thumb and Anya was absolutely dating him for the money. He couldn’t even come to blame her because he was dressed really fucking well, like Viktor Nikiforov type well.  

 

“Uh…yeah.”  Yuri grabbed his pillow, phone, and charger before quickly shoving his laptop into his drawer. He slid the lock on it shut, not that rich-boy over here was looking to steal a seven year-old hand-me-down from a sixteen year-old, but you could never be too sure.  “Cool…uh…have fun.”

 

He closed the door behind him a little too quickly to be cool and hurried across the living room to the other bedroom. Kira and Alina were the only two in the room, apparently Katya would be back late.  None of them owned an air mattress, that was a dumb expense when they all had their own beds anyways. Alina offered hers just a little too enthusiastically for his liking, but he caught Kira laughing silently out of the corner of his eye. 

 

In the end he was too tired to argue, just let Alina convince him to lay in her bed while she fussed with the blankets. He opted to stay on top of them, the room was too hot to sleep under the covers and honestly he didn’t want to touch her. She’d get the wrong idea and it was…embarrassing. God forbid he woke up with…

 

Yeah. No. Above the covers. 

 

She snuggled up to him anyways. 

 

He’d text Otabek about it in the morning and he’d laugh, probably. The fucker was so cool, he probably did shit like this all the time and thought nothing of it. He’d probably make a joke or something about how Yuri would look back on it and wish he’d done something. 

 

As Kira shut off the lights—the two of them had classes earlier than he did—she gave him a look. In any other circumstance he’d expect the female friend of the girl he was apparently sleeping with to give him a look like “you’d better behave yourself, you creep” but she just seemed…amused. His eyes narrowed, aggravated that she wouldn’t consider him a threat. 

 

He  _ wasn’t _ but that didn’t matter. 

 

“Night, Yuri.”

 

“Yeah.”  He grunted in response. 

 

* * *

 

**Yuri:**

**So I got sexiled from my own fucking room**

 

It took his best friend no less than three hours to respond to the text message Yuri sent first thing when he woke up.  By that point, he was in the ballet studio with another skater. This one was a female singles skater from Moscow. As far as skaters, Lilia was not exclusively working for her ex-husband’s coaching staff, so it didn’t surprise Yuri that much. 

 

“Plisetsky!” Lilia snapped when his phone went off.  He’d forgotten to silence it again and fuck she was angry as shit. 

 

Yuri all but literally dived for the phone to shut it off entirely.  He’d respond later, anyways. Right now was the only time he was getting that remotely resembled serious practice. Off-season ice time was cheap but not something he invested heavily in, at Lilia’s suggestion nonetheless. Sometimes he wondered if she was trying to turn him into a dancer instead or if she really cared about his joints.

 

“Your turnout is sloppy, too much from the knees. You have your splits,  _ use them _ .” She growled at him and Yuri complied quickly while the other skater glared daggers at him from her corner of the room.  “This sport is everything to you or it is nothing at all, do you understand?”

 

“Yes, madame.”  He mumbled, eyes glancing back to his bag in the far corner just the once before he refocused. 

 

**Otabek:**

**happens. Who did you stay with?**

 

Yuri let his hair down as soon as he was out of Lilia’s sight, despite the heat still radiating off him.  Hair tie still between his lips, he typed back a response.

 

**Yuri:**

**Alina.**

 

**Otabek:**

**That’s the one that’s into you?**

 

**Yuri:**

**Fuck off**

 

**Otabek:**

**You live with 4 girls. Want to keep them straight.**

 

**Yuri:**

**Yes. That one.**

 

**Otabek:**

**Sucks**

 

Yeah, it fucking did suck.  Yuri had his knees pinned to the ground in a butterfly stretch. It was more habit than anything, keeping himself in stretches while watching tv.  Except, in the dorm they didn’t have tv. He wouldn’t have Netflix, either, if Yuuri hadn’t given him the password—apparently adults did other things with their time.  Still, he found himself watching youtube tutorials on how to tie a tie. There was no actual rhyme or reason, it just came up on his recommended. 

 

“Fuck this. They all look the same.” He tossed the tie behind him and looked for something else before texting his friend back.

 

**Yuri:**

**Can you Skype tonight?**

 

**Otabek:**

**Can’t. Early morning, sorry.**

 

It was whatever.  If it were up to Yuri, they’d Skype anyways. “Early” was relative now that their timelines were a hint closer than normal.  He’d make do. Maybe he’d just…

 

No, he had nothing else to do. He had no money.

 

He clicked through another video, this one about whether or not a black panther exists. 

 

**Otabek:**

**You still doing camp?**

 

**Yuri:**

**Fuck you asking for? yes.**

 

He’d already paid for it.  Sponsors were willing to cover that at least. He still needed money to pay his damn tutor, but he’d make ends meet. There was another baby class tomorrow he could help with.  Maybe he could pick up hours in the back just spraying out rental skates. He really didn’t want to, Yuri wasn’t a people person but in a different way than Otabek wasn’t. Otabek was just quiet, didn’t really find interest in things until there were genuinely something he cared for. Yuri was well aware his best friend hated small talk, it made communication difficult on occasion. 

 

Yuri just hated dealing with people.  Maybe some of it was the same, maybe small talk didn’t interest him, but he suffered through it if he liked the person. He and Grandpa would often chatter in a small-talk way on the phone after their initial conversation was done. Yuuri even, Yuri didn’t mind small talk with him. It was actually kind of interesting sometimes. 

 

He just…had a natural tendency to judge people and he didn’t like most of what he judged. 

 

**Otabek:**

**You ok with me going to bed?**

 

**Yuri:**

**Yeah. It’s fine.**

 

**Otabek:**

**What will you do?**

 

**Yuri:**

**Sleep**

 

**Otabek:**

**I can stay up**

 

**Yuri:**

**It’s late here. I should sleep.**

 

He stayed up some nights, if they specifically had a time set to call. That just wasn’t a frequent occurrence. Whenever things like this happened, Otabek just seemed…upset. It wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong, he had priorities. He was allowed, Otabek was a real adult in most senses. He was still in school, but he was doing things.

 

Not that—it was different.

 

Yuri plugged his phone in and curled into his blankets without bothering to turn off the lights. It was a Friday night, he should probably be doing something exciting. Otabek always did interesting things.  Maybe that’s what he was doing, Maybe he wasn’t going to bed, but was going out with the other skaters and didn’t want Yuri’s FOMO to act up. He wasn’t going to not admit to being petty, but fuck them all. He was 16, he was allowed to be petty.  

 

Part of him hated his age. 

 

Across the room, Anya was still out. Likely, she’d be partying tonight. Of all the dancers in this dorm, she seemed least likely to make it. Then again, Sergei Polunin managed just fine and plenty of dancers did drugs.

 

_ Wow, my expectations are so low. _

 

Not because of Polunin, either, just because of what he heard and saw living in the dorms. People were absolute wrecks in these rooms.  There was a girl three doors down who was in rehab for an eating disorder, the reason Yuri was trying to be quiet about his financial issues. He didn’t want a stint in rehab to turn him into just another Russian ice princess who failed when the competition demanded too much. 

 

“Ice princess” made him laugh to himself.  

 

Anyways, here Yuri was on a Friday night. He had no friends to travel outside with anyways so there was no point in wasting sleep time.  If he stayed up any longer, he’d probably start to feel hungry anyways. He didn’t have any money for something other than the snacks he’d stolen from the gym earlier. 

 

Tomorrow would be better.

 

* * *

 

It was two months later before their paths would cross again in person. It was all missed calls, fallen-through plans to Skype, short text conversations snuck in before they were off again doing their own things. Sometimes it bothered Yuri just a little. He’d see pictures of Otabek and his training mates out for lunch somewhere fun.  He felt a little salty hitting “like” on them, but he felt obligated when they were Otabek’s photos. 

 

His friend was private, but knew how to work PR.

 

“What do you mean we can’t be in the same room?” Yuri snapped frustratedly at Viktor. He wasn’t even sure why he was blaming the old man, he wasn’t at fault. Technically speaking, this wasn’t even his training camp  _ yet— _ even if everyone and their mother knew he would inherit Yakov’s business relations when he retired. Even if it was, though, he wasn’t running housing. 

 

“You’re in different age groups—“

 

“We’re in the same fucking division!” Yuri all but shouted. 

 

“Don’t be childish.  You don’t want distractions anyways.” Viktor smiled, but there was a hint of something Yuri couldn’t place in his eyes.  “You want to beat me in my final season, yes?”

 

“I can beat you in my sleep, grandpa,” Yuri growled, shoving the small bag of normal clothes under his bed for the week.  “You and your stupid little—“

 

He felt fingers close around his wrist and looked up at Viktor.  Green eyes flashed angrily as he tried to pull away.

 

“Stop.”  He was being scolded like a literal child.  “You want to be treated like an adult? Act like one, Yura.  Name-calling is childish, temper tantrums are pitiful on someone your age.  Sportsmanship is—“

 

“The fuck do you know? Let  _ go _ !” Yuri’s voice was rising like his blood. His face was flushed with frustration more than anger.

 

“Sportsmanship will get you better sponsors.”  Viktor gritted his teeth, but nonetheless let go. “You’re going to need them, costumes will be expensive for you this year.”

 

Yanking his hand back, Yuri rubbed at his wrist and turned away. The stupid pillow on the bed was suddenly far more interesting to him.  He knew what Viktor was saying. It was already obvious he was starting on some sort of trajectory into his growth spurt. He didn’t expect to be tall.  His father was a mystery to him, but his grandpa wasn’t particularly gifted in height.

 

“If you’re lucky, it’ll only be a year or two.”  Viktor said, softer now. 

 

They both knew that was more than unlikely. Yuri was well aware boys started and ended their growth spurts late.  The fact had been all but drilled into him because he needed to be ready for it. He was nothing if not prepared, though. His habitual stretches were second-nature. He still consistently watched Netflix or sat on his phone in a stretch of one kind or another. His balance board was his new best friend and he’d only grown a centimeter. 

 

“Can you leave? I want to meet Otabek when he gets here.”  Yuri grumbled. The flush to his cheeks was less evident now, at least. 

 

Viktor watched him a moment longer, but Yuri didn’t look back. He didn’t want to do something stupid, like apologize. Viktor knew better than to get him worked up, now he was just going to be pissed off for the rest of the day. What was worse, the fucker didn’t even have to live in housing with the rest of them. He and his fiancé-boyfriend-whatever got to live in their own two-bedroom apartment that was unfairly close to the rink. 

 

Yuri also lived relatively close. He only did it because it was cheaper to live in this housing for two weeks than his current rooming situation. He’d move in wherever was open when he returned, Lilia assured him it was fine. 

 

The door closed again and Yuri glared at the empty bed. He didn’t know who was living with him, but they’d already made themselves at home. The bed was dressed properly and the suitcase was unpacked. All their rink bags were lined neatly up against their wall. 

 

Yuri glanced down at his own pile and begrudgingly decided to unpack. He only brought four pairs of pants.  Most of his clothes were shirts and socks. One whole bag was just dedicated to tape, heat/ice packs, and this weird salve Yuuri had brought back from Japan that he stole. It worked wonders on bruises. 

 

There was another hour that passed in silence before his phone began ringing. He made a grab for it because the ringer was loud and the song was embarrassing. He’d forgotten what it was set to because he always left it on vibrate. 

 

Of course, that was when his mystery roommate decided to make an appearance. 

 

“Is that Yuuri’s free skate from 2014-2015?”  Yuri had only met Minami Kenjirou  _ once  _ before this (once that he had to actually interact) and it was enough to determine he hated him. There was too much bubble in his personality and he didn’t have an off switch or even just a setting for “realism”.  

 

“You’re not my fucking age either, why the shit—” Yuri blatantly ignored the question and answered the call. “Hello?”

 

“Yuri?”  Otabek sounded mildly amused. “Did you want to meet up?”

 

“Are you here?”  Yuri grabbed his wallet and yanked his cellphone off the charger. His hand automatically went to double check for his key, which he remembered was on his desk. Only a second later, he was shoving past the other skater and into the hall. “You’re already unpacked?”

 

“Yeah.”  And the voice was so much closer than he expected. 

 

“Oh, thank fuck.”  Yuri sighed in relief and jogged the few meters to Otabek’s door.  He was only two doors down, this wouldn’t be unbearable. “You know who they stuck me with? The tiny Katsudon-wannabe. I’m going to lose my mind.”

 

Otabek’s eyes shone with amusement as they did one of those awkward bro-hugs. Yuri was never sure whether to go in for it or not, so they were always stiff. 

 

“You won’t really have to talk to him.”  His friend pointed out. “You’ll both be too busy skating and sleeping.”

 

“But fuck, what if he does talk to me?”

 

Otabek shrugged, seemingly unable to find a decent answer. It wasn’t like they had to be best friends, they were only living together for two weeks. 

 

“Viktor told me it’s because you’re older than me, but so is he.”  Yuri continued his rant without really caring that he wasn’t getting verbal responses. “Like, ok, not by much but still!”

 

“At least it’s not Alina.” Otabek said quietly with a chuckle.

 

Yuri blinked at him once, twice before he grinned widely. His smiles were rare, some of it was just generalized teen angst but some of it was genuinely related to self-consciousness. He didn’t have the straightest or whitest teeth in the world, though Lilia was on his ass all last season to whiten. 

 

“Yeah.”  

 

They managed to make it to the small “cafeteria” that had been set up for the program.  Yuri was thankful for it, the last camp he’d done had been a fend-for-yourself situation. If he did that this year, Otabek would see right through his facade. He was still struggling to make ends meet enough to keep up decent meals. 

 

Only halfway through dinner, Yuri remembered that jet lag was a wonderfully disastrous thing. His friend hadn’t had time to sleep and at first it wasn’t obvious. Otabek was always quiet, but suddenly Yuri realized he was also distracted. His eyes weren’t focusing on things, not without appearing to be half-closed. 

 

“You need to go back?”  Yuri asked when they’d just about finished their food.

 

“I can stay—“

 

“You need to sleep.” He disagreed. 

 

That was how most of their friendship was anyways. One of them needed to sleep, the other had to wake up. Now they were in the same time zone, it should be easier. Alas, with adjustment periods, it wasn’t. 

 

Yuri watched the door close to Otabek’s room. He wasn’t sure who he was rooming with, but they weren’t speaking Russian, so he could only assume it was a rink mate of Otabek’s. Fine, that’s enough reason for Yuri not to room with him. Viktor didn’t have to go about making shit up—

 

“Are you always this fucking cheerful?”  Yuri snapped, letting the door to his own dorm slam behind him. 

 

These rooms were actual dorms, just two beds. There wasn’t even a desk and the mattress was absolute fucking shit. He didn’t know something could be worse than his bed with the dancers. 

 

“Are you always such a jerk?” Minami shot back, smile still bright and cheery on his face. 

 

Well fuck him, then.

 

The other skater said something to someone on the other side of the line and hung up. The voice was fairly feminine, Yuri would reckon it was a family member except for the way Minami’s eyes shone brightly. 

 

“Who’s that, your  _ mom _ ?” He spat anyways.

 

“My girlfriend.”  The response came with a sort of peppy lilt to it. “She just wanted to make sure I landed safely and settled in.  It’s so nice, we’ve been together for three months now—“

 

The conversation was one-sided and droned on like elevator music. Except, this was an elevator Yuri couldn’t get out of. He changed silently, letting the other skater talk himself stupid while he got ready for bed. They had an early morning, he had reason to go to sleep. 

 

“What about you?”  The question shook him out of his automatic mode and shifted him back to manual. Minami was looking at him expectantly. “Girlfriend?”

 

“Some of us actually have a serious career.”  

 

The other boy’s face fell a little. 

 

“Yes.  Ok?”

 

* * *

  
  


“You told him what?” Yuri hadn’t seen Otabek laugh like this in a while. Well, in all honesty he hadn’t  _ seen _ him laugh at all since he last saw him in person—World’s. That didn’t compare to this.

 

“Shut up!”  He slapped a hand over his best friend’s mouth, but the Kazakh’s eyes still shimmered with amusement. “I told him Alina was my girlfriend.”

 

“Yuri!” That was one of the coaches. He spun around to fix the instructor in charge of coaching him through his step sequences from the previous season with a glare. This immediate social disaster was momentarily a little more important, if only because it made his friend laugh.  “No, Plisetsky.”

 

_ Fuck off, Katsuki.   _ He didn’t even have to turn back around to know who had also looked over. 

 

“Are you going to bring her by?”  Otabek teased as he made his way back to the ice, putting the water bottle he’d been sipping from down in his rink bag and pulling off hard guards. “I’d love to meet her.”

 

Yuri stuck up his middle finger and proceeded onto the ice. 

 

This was the other negative about only seeing your best friend in person because of skating. Yuri didn’t get to spend actual time with him. There were always competitions, if they weren’t skating then their teammates were. Yuri wasn’t a social butterfly by any account, but he was still expected to make an appearance and Otabek certainly cared enough about his own teammates to bother. Then there were things like this, intensives and camps. They’d wake up at five, train all day, stop to eat, and go to bed. There wasn’t much free time and they were only two weeks long. Some days, they didn’t even share the same schedule. 

 

Those days sucked the most, even if only because those were the days Minami was in his group.

 

“Want to grab dinner?”  Otabek asked in the locker room. “We can stop by the infirmary on the way.”

 

Infirmary was a fancy way to put it. They had a nurse on staff for this, but not a full team of medical staff. Yuri was personally used to having everything in one complex for the most part. The nurse here was really just to make sure nothing was accidentally overlooked—so concussions. She was here to check for concussions. 

 

“Is something wrong?”  He frowned, pushing sweaty blond hair out of his face as he pulled a band out. He needed to retie it, it was falling. 

 

“Your knee is looking a little puffy, and the ankle on the other side.”  

 

“They get like that sometimes.” Yuri shrugged, embarrassed that he noticed. “It’s just the growth spurt stuff. I’m working hard to retain my flexibility.”

 

“Don’t damage the soft tissue.”  They closed their lockers at the same time, almost drowning out Otabek’s quiet voice. “That’s the hardest to heal.”

 

“You think I don’t know that?”  The locker slammed harder than he intended, but he didn’t wince or show any sign that it was unintentional.

 

People hassling him about his health was getting annoying. Viktor wouldn’t shut up about it, for instance, constantly reminding him he was growing. As if he didn’t know he was growing, he was the one it was fucking happening to. He was well enough aware. It sucked, too.  Here he was trying to make a fucking name for himself, make a penny or two off of his literal career but Viktor was casting a giant shadow and  _ wouldn’t go away.  _ His only advantage was being younger and that was a disadvantage if he wouldn’t stop growing and throwing off his balance. 

 

“I don’t think he’s taking your sponsors,”  Otabek snorted. “Are you ok?”

 

“Did I say that aloud?” Yuri growled. 

 

“You talk to yourself sometimes,”  His best friend nodded his agreement and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, dinner and bed for you if you won’t get your knee checked.”

 

The tone in his voice made it evident he really wanted that knee checked. 

 

“‘Kay.”  Yuri conceded and let himself be led out of the rink and into the summer’s sunny heat. He sneezed when they reached the sunlight, eyes closing to avoid being blinded.

 

“Allergic to warmth?”

 

“No good for my heart.”  The blond clutched his chest.  A look of concern flashed across dark brown eyes for the quickest moment and Yuri continued. “Melts it.”

 

“Fuck off,” Otabek shoved him playfully. 

 

This was what having friends was supposed to be like. It was supposed to be chill and cool. They could make jokes and get food and do weird shit—like talking to oneself—without judgement. 

 

“You’re in a tight spot with the sponsors.”  The conversation turned too serious again too soon. “You should reach out to be a social media person for someone. Promise a photo a day or something.”

 

“Brand ambassadors have to spend money if they aren’t the ones being reached out to.”  He mumbled. 

 

“Still less expensive than full-price—“

 

“I can handle it, ok?”  Yuri said quietly, looking up at his best friend. His green eyes pleaded to be left alone. “I’ve handled it this long, right?  I can keep it up. Soldier on and all that bull.”

 

Otabek returned the smile with his own weak one.  

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters for this are all completed, so you won't have to wait long for updates. Izilen and I are just trying to perfectly sync-up posting times.  
> Subscribe and stay tuned! <3


	2. Chapter 2

“But listen to this!” Yuri snapped.  He was _furious,_ laying in his hotel room after a horrible showing at World’s.

 

_Third._

 

Again!  He’d placed second the year prior at sixteen.  He couldn’t fucking win. He’d placed first at his senior debut Grand Prix final. He could win on a global scale. What the fuck was wrong with him?

 

“They’re saying I’ve burned out.” He all but growled.

 

Maybe he had. This past year, he placed second at his second GPF, only beating Otabek by a fraction of a point. JJ had been knocked out early due to an injury leaving him to want to take the season off. Katsuki had come out of fucking nowhere to claim first. He’d been dominating the international circuits all season.

 

Every young Russian burned out. That was their excuse. There wasn’t anyone else his age in the circuit. The only decent skater between him and Nikiforov was twenty-one and he was talented but still not perfect. No one else sat between him and Russia’s pride and joy, not of the same pedigree.

 

It was the same reason Mila hadn’t won gold this year, a fifteen year-old girl from a rival skating club snatched it from under her record-setting nose and Yuri was well aware she’d be gone by the start of next season. They’d never hear the name Nikolina Pomerantsevna again.

 

“You haven’t,”  Otabek assured him seriously. Fucking asshole was sitting calmly on the end of the bed. “They’re just trying to stir up drama.”

 

“How can you sit there and be so…so…so…Fuck!”  Those were not tears in his eyes. He wasn’t fucking crying in front of his best friend. He was seventeen. Seventeen year olds weren’t supposed to be pussies that sobbed over stupid tabloids.

 

“Yura,” Otabek sighed. “I know you’re not a burnout. You know you’re not a burnout. You don’t have to fight to prove that. We all see it, the people that matter—”

 

“Yakov’s retiring by the end of next season.”  The blond cut him off. “Not just slowing down. Not just refusing to take new students. He’s out. Georgi retired. Viktor is done after today. Mila had already been looking at a new coach in Canada.”

 

Never mind the fact it was the same coach as her current boyfriend and how bad of an idea that was.

 

“Have you asked around?”

 

No. Honestly, he was hoping people would come to him. Yakov and Lilia had both on multiple occasions offered to keep him on as a student until he could find a permanent situation. Most skaters his age changed coaches anyways, it wasn’t unheard of. The point of it was to keep changing and adapting—but Yakov and Lilia had been the ones to understand his situation. Yakov was an old family friend, by extension so was his ex wife.  They understood he needed help with coaching fees and the like. Living expenses were rough, even in the dorms. He wanted to move out, but he couldn’t afford to.

 

“Wait, maybe?  Ride out the next year and scope out some possible candidates.”

 

_I can’t afford that._

 

Where would he live? Abroad?  He knew skaters that lived with other families or in skaters’ dorms in various countries. Katsuki had gone to university abroad and managed it that way. Maybe a scholarship? But his grades even with a private tutor weren’t worth it.

 

 

“Yeah.”  He mumbled, frustration evident in his voice.

 

“You know you can always call when you need it.” Otabek offered a small smile and Yuri felt like his heart dropped into his stomach. He’d wanted to tell his best friend about this months ago, when he first found out. He was…embarrassed?  Lonely?

 

It was difficult to get ahold of Otabek sometimes, which was fair. Yuri was well aware that it could be difficult to get ahold of himself as well. Just, their year consisted of missed calls, voicemails (Otabek’s voicemail box was infuriatingly full 99.9% of the time, as if he didn’t delete anything), and prematurely ended text conversations. Their friendship was made in short memes, a lucky Skype plan here and there, birthday messages and sometimes care packages in the mail.

 

Otabek was really good at sending care packages when he felt his friend was getting too stressed or worried. Most often, they contained ample amounts of protein bars, herbal and caffeinated teas, sometimes cookies and other sweets if he was concerned Yuri was looking too gaunt. Yuri wasn’t like that. Even if he could have afforded it, he wasn’t the type.

 

Otabek never asked for anything in return.

 

“It’s just—I _hate_ it.”  He flung a pillow across the room and his best friend ducked just in time because it would’ve smacked him unintentionally in the face.  “They have no fucking clue how hard I’ve worked to keep up with every single one of you assholes this season. Viktor had his fucking parents backing everything his whole god damn career.  Just because they were shitheads that spent the money to make their son disappear from their immediate life doesn’t discount the fact his ride to the top was _paid for_ .  Katsuki’s sister was the only one in that entire family who made any sort of sacrifice and honestly I don’t think she fucking had to. Viktor didn’t— _fuck_ —still doesn’t charge him a god damn coaching fee.

 

“Who else? JJ? Fuck if I know how his family affords their hundred-and-one children, but the fact they’re his coaches counts for something. It’s not like it’s much out of their own pockets.  They provide for their fucking kids just like any other god damn family—“

 

“JJ is middle class at best,”  Otabek’s voice was soft, soothing, and irritatingly quiet. “Most of their children had to work for scholarship.”

 

“Who cares? I don’t! Is JJ fucking paying for himself and his parents to exist?”

 

“Yura, I didn’t make the podium either.”  He reminded, still unbearably _calm_. Yuri wanted to scream.

 

“You can afford to lose.”

 

What did Otabek do with his life, anyways?  He took care of his siblings, sometimes. He lived abroad, not on scholarship the way Katsuki admittedly had, but because his parents had paid for it. Skating in Kazakstan was _expensive_. Also, it wasn’t really that great. They had very few decent coaches. If Yuri had been born there, he wouldn’t even have been able to afford skating nationally, let alone internationally.

 

His parents let him fucking DJ and bought him a fucking motorcycle _and_ a car.  They paid his coaching fees still.  He was his nation’s pride and joy, so he had every sponsorship he could possibly want ever.  

 

“You’re right,” Otabek didn’t even argue, and that only served to piss Yuri off more. “You’re right, I could leave skating tomorrow and pursue a career playing in local clubs. My parents would be disappointed, but I’d be covered.”

 

“I work so hard.”  Yuri’s voice cracked.

 

It was falling apart, his everything. Yakov retiring would mean paying a new coach. He couldn’t afford it. He’d never afford it.  The discount Yakov gave him was too great. He really paid close to nothing for the old man to haul him around to competitions and spend hours at the rink. New coach meant new expense and also meant explaining to someone else just how bad his financial situation was.

 

“I know.”

 

“I spent every rest day for the past season sharpening skates and helping younger classes in Lilia’s studio and teaching fucking infants in skates.” Really, he spent any time he wasn’t skating doing that. “I couldn’t—I missed dedushka’s birthday. I missed _my_ birthday.”

 

This was his life and he didn’t want to change it. He needed to keep skating, but he didn’t have the money to put his grandfather up somewhere to come visit and he just didn’t have the time to visit himself.

 

“Did you ask Nikiforov?”  Yuri hadn’t expected the question. Honestly, he had expected to hear the same thing that the voice in his head had been telling him for the past year of over-exhaustion and near-breakdowns.

 

_Maybe it’s time to quit._

 

“No?”  Yuri frowned.

 

“Maybe ask.”  Otabek suggested. “He’s sounded open to new students now he’s officially retiring.”

 

Yeah. Fuck him. He should have stayed retired the first time.

 

“He nearly ruined Katsuki!”  Yuri snapped, but the idea was…

 

Why was he considering this?

 

“Katsuki? Who just won gold?” Otabek snorted. “I’d hardly say he was _ruined_. Improved, maybe.”

 

_Viktor._

 

He hadn’t even…he’d never contemplated it. This whole past year, though, between his own temporary comeback and his coaching Katsuki, he _had_ been working in close quarters with Yakov. They spent hours in the office after ice time, some days. Others, he’d help Yuri with quick pointers and a sharp eye.

 

He’d never _wanted_ the help, but that was besides the point.

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Does that mean you’ll ask?” Otabek laughed, picking the pillow Yuri had thrown previously off the floor only to chuck it back at him.

 

* * *

 

“Can you believe I didn’t even have to ask?”  Yuri spoke excitedly into the phone. “He came up to me.  After we got off the plane in St. Petersburg. He asked if I’d consider being his student.”

 

Otabek’s eye-roll wasn’t visible through his voice, but still somehow evident.

 

“I said I’d think about it.” He continued, joking.

 

“You’re a fucking idiot if you told _Viktor Nikiforov_ that you would _consider_ being his second men’s individual skater.”  Otabek quipped back. “I told you. You’re going to be fine.  How’s he handling the coaching fee?”

 

“That’s just it.”  The playfulness left his voice, as did any inclination that he was bragging about his new coach. “He didn’t mention it.  Not once.”

 

“Do you think Yakov told him?”

 

An icy fear gripped Yuri’s stomach. Honestly, he hadn’t even considered the possibility. He genuinely hated the idea of anyone knowing just how deep his problems went. His home life was embarrassing, or really not to him. He grew up with it in a modern society where plenty of people were raised by grandparents or single parents. For his grandfather, though, he knew it had been an embarrassment.

 

_Deda was yelling, he never yelled. Deda was soft-spoken and gentle, always, only gruff when it mattered—when Yuri had something he needed to learn._

 

_Mama was screaming at the top of her lungs, shrill and piercing. Yuri couldn’t handle it. He covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth together._

 

_“I’m nineteen, papa!”_

 

 _“You have a son, Kasia! You have a_ son _in that room with you. The very least you could manage is to pick him up from school or the ice skating rink.”_

 

“Yura?”  Otabek’s voice brought him back to reality.

 

“Yeah. Maybe he did.”  Yuri chewed his lip nervously. He should ask Viktor again about payment. Maybe he’d learn more, find out what’s going on. “Should I ask again? What if he springs some outrageous cost on me?”

 

“Or, hear me out, maybe he’s looking to help out the future generation. Sponsors of sorts.”  Otabek chuckled. “Yuri, not everyone is out to screw you. Promise.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,”  He rolled his eyes. “It’s one there, right?”

 

“I have an off day tomorrow.” _Oh._ “Practice starts next week for Stars.”

 

Yuri’s lip began bleeding and he swiped his tongue over it gently.  The sting of iron on his taste buds centered him for a moment, long enough to thing. Otabek had off tomorrow. Yuri didn’t, it was already ten. He had to be up at five, he was doing a short ice show (Russia-only, Lilia’s orders) for the next month before he was officially done with his season until bootcamp. He’d been saving up all year, every spare penny in an account for his flight and lodging in Japan.

 

“You can go to sleep if you need to.”  His friend offered him. “I know your practices start earlier.”

 

Anya wasn’t back yet. He was hoping she was staying at her _new_ boyfriend’s home. She’d gone through three in the past year.  She was due to move out at the end of the spring, though, so he hoped if nothing else she found _someone_ to live with.

 

“I can stay up.”

 

“Don’t push yourself.”  

 

Fuck him, Yuri would push himself as much as he wanted. This was how he could keep up with his friend. They barely had time to catch up after World’s, Otabek’s flight had left basically right away. They’d had breakfast early after the gala and he’d been off. Yuri had spent the night in Otabek’s room because his teammate had slept with someone—rumors were it was a sponsor and he had little to no doubt.

 

Not that the girl Otabek had been rooming with was a slut, just that literally that was the reality of sports. Probably not IOC “safe sport” approved, sleeping with sponsors, but if it got her the money she needed and she was doing this willingly he wouldn’t be the asshole to blow the whistle.

 

Otabek, though, had been adamant that the rumors were incorrect and that she had actually been put up in a different room because her parents didn’t want her staying in a room with a boy.

 

“You’re going to Japan, right?”  He asked curiously. “Your plans haven’t changed?”

 

“It’s Nikiforov’s first training camp,”  Yeah, and it wasn’t fucking in Russia, the asshole.  “Of course I’m going.”

 

“Enjoy your time with _my_ new coach.”  He taunted, tugging absentmindedly at a strand of hair. He should cut it, it was getting long again—girlishly so.

 

He didn’t want to be another Viktor Nikiforov.

 

They chatted for another hour and a half, mostly just nonsense, updates on life. Otabek’s coach was bringing on a new choreographer. He was also letting Otabek mix his own music for the first time.  He hadn’t found anything yet, but he wasn’t actively searching yet.

 

Otabek was like that. He would just have music come to him, he’d make it perfect, and then some choreographer would come and make a program out of it. Beka would just tell them the story of the music, or really he probably wouldn’t have to. Yuri liked to think Beka’s music spoke for itself.

 

So no. The choreographer would give it one listen and just _know_.

 

“Have you grown again?”

 

“Yeah, went a size up in my boots, too,”  Either he was going to have disproportionately large feet or he was going to grow a few centimeters more. “I mean, I was going to buy new boots anyways—“

 

“That’s shitty.”

 

“It’s fine. I’m keeping up with my flexibility training.”  Yuri sighed, he’d spent the last fifteen minutes on the floor of his bedroom in a split for good measure. If he wasn’t sleeping, he might as well work.

 

“Balance board?”  

 

“Obviously, dumbass.”  He cast a glance at both balance boards he had peeking out from under his bed. One was the 360-kind, rotated in all directions. The other was just a T-shape, the bottom being a thin piece of board similar enough to the blade of a skate. Yakov hated that one, said it didn’t really teach much in ways of balance but some days he just felt more comfortable holding certain stretches on that board over the other.

 

“Just making sure you have a fighting chance to beat me next season.”

 

“Is there even a question?”

 

There was. He’d barely kept his scores higher the whole of last season.

 

“Hey, text me tomorrow?” Otabek’s voice barely disguised a yawn. “I’m gonna turn in.”

 

Yuri glanced at the clock. It was three there.

 

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll see you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor was different than Yakov as a coach. Much to Lilia’s distaste, he was starting his season a little early. That was just because he wanted to get used to Viktor now, before the training camp next month. He wanted to look _perfect_.  Everything was about appearances. He had to look perfectly in sync with Viktor. He wanted it to seem like they were already a perfect team.

 

Call him anal-retentive, that’s what this sport was. Appearances.

 

“Lighten up on your step sequences, you look like an elephant.”  Viktor waved his hand.

 

 _Repeat_.

 

They were drilling one of Yuuri’s programs, something for the sake of “practicing” a coherent piece without doing something he’d already done to death with Yakov.

 

The only issue in Yuri’s mind was that it wasn’t really _fair_ expecting him to compete against the man’s husband. Like what to fuck?  Like he was ever going to have more sex appeal in his step sequences than the man Viktor was actually willingly fucking.

 

“More like an elephant my ass.”  He mumbled, starting again.

 

“You’re stronger in your precision than your artistry, Yurochka—“

 

“My _artistry_ is fine.”  Yuri snapped back.

 

“No, your execution is diligent. You’re already too _big,_ rein it in. You’re not drunk dancing for anyone’s attention.  Try a bit of subtlety—“

 

“—Like your husband at the banquet?”

 

“If you want to play the part of Yuuri at the banquet, I will be more than willing to check up on ISU regulations regarding pole installations on ice and choreograph you something for next season.”  Viktor’s face was absolutely dead serious when Yuri stopped and turned to him. “Again.”

 

Really, compared to Yakov, this was nothing. Viktor was gentle, much kinder than his predecessor. The problem was that, just by merely existing, Viktor was enough to push Yuri harder than anyone had ever pushed him before. People already compared the two of them and now that Viktor was his _coach_ he needed to prove to the world even more two things:

 

  1. He wasn’t a burnout.
  2. He wasn’t Viktor Nikiforov.



 

He was _better_.

 

“Better, now try picking up the pace.”  Viktor flicked his wrist. “One more time, then water.  Unless you need a break now?”

 

Yakov would never have given him the option.

 

Yuri’s knee was suffering a dull ache, the way it got now and then. It was becoming more frequent now, like bone grinding on bone.  It hurt like a fucking bitch some days and not at all on others.

 

He’d need to ice it when he got back, probably. He was getting better at feeling when his pants were slightly tighter around the one knee.

 

“Yura, your turnout—“  Viktor warned just before he hit the ice. “This is the ice, not the studio.”

 

His expression was amused as he held a finger thoughtfully to his lips.

 

“Take your break now—or not.”

 

Yuri had already gotten up again and was about to start over. He’d landed on his hip, but had probably twisted his knee in the process because it felt more strained now. Viktor was wrong, it wasn’t his turnout. It was his knee, when it was sore he’d often get lazy. His knee would just start to twist out on its own, eventually causing his foot to turn slightly sideways and he’d trip himself up.

 

“Ok. One more time right, then we’re breaking.”

 

They were mostly focusing on footwork, trying to perfect that before another potential year of growing. The goal was to pull the best of what he could together and work with his center of gravity as it changes.

 

Katsuki was quiet when he entered, he was taking some time off. Yuri had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that this would be the senior Yuuri’s final season. He was growing tired and was already starting to choreograph. Yakov wouldn’t admit it, but he very much appreciated Katsuki’s work.

 

That was because it was good.

 

Katsuki was an intense choreographer and a way better coach than his husband. Yuri had been witness to his work with younger students, juniors mostly. He sometimes helped when he had free time last season, waiting for his husband to come off the ice.

 

“You look good, Yuri.”  He called from the side, passing Viktor a water bottle and a bag—lunch. “If you shift your weight a little further onto your left at the end, though, your transition into your spin—once you add it in, of course—would be much smoother. Less work.”

 

“Good eye, Yuuri!”

 

Ugh, they were still disgusting.  Yuri turned away when he caught sight of Viktor kissing his husband’s cheek.

 

Yuri felt more comfortable taking a break now that Yuuri was here, though. The older man had a way of knowing, the same way Otabek did, when something was off. He didn’t want anything brought up in front of his new coach. This was him proving himself worthy.

 

“Is your skate loose?”  He’d already noticed something wrong. Damn him.

 

“A little. New boots, I’m breaking them in. They were stiffer when I tied them, thought they were tighter.”

 

“You’ll ruin your ankle like that.”  He warned, eyebrow quirked. “Sit and retie it, then grab some water.”

 

He pulled on his guards and walked to the benches a little ways away, just to give himself space to inspect the damage.

 

The couple a few yards away, still at the edge of the ice, were talking in quiet voices. That was a rarity for Viktor, honestly. The man had no idea what an inside voice was. Thankfully, though, it meant the pair were too self-involved to watch as he rubbed at his knee, trying to identify where the puffiness was originating.

 

Camp wasn’t that far off.  He’d need to take it easy on it.

 

“Yuri, you ready to run the first two minutes through?” Viktor called.

 

He’d take it easy tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

That was what he kept telling himself. “I’ll take it easy tomorrow.”  “I’ll give myself an off day this weekend.” “Maybe I’ll take the whole weekend and just do something.”

 

The problem was, he had nothing else to do. He had skating and more skating. That was literally all he had. Skating and activities directly related to skating.

 

Oh. And classwork.

“Are you doing homework?”  The door behind where Yuri sat at his work desk had only swung open moments before. Viktor, well, no, Yuuri had landed a deal with a university not far from the olympic-sized rink they’d be training at. The facility options for something like this in Japan were few so that they’d given a foreigner the option to even train people there was a testament to both the names Nikiforov and Katsuki.

 

Because, let’s be real, Katsuki was the one who landed it.

 

“Don’t fucking make fun of me.” Yuri turned around and there he was. Otabek Altin in the flesh.

 

Why was his heart suddenly racing?

 

“Hey,” Otabek ignored him, grinning happily.

 

“Hey, fuckwad.” Yuri rolled his eyes. “Yes. It’s tutor shit. I promised I’d finish off some assignments while I’m here.”

 

The stupid bro hug they exchanged was clumsy as his best friend was halfway out of his backpack.  Yuri stepped back and sat back down on the edge of his bed, watching as Otabek diligently unpacked. He’d pulled strings (told Katsuki he _had_ to get them roomed together “or else”) to call Beka his roommate. Now, there he was, across the tiny little dorm with his suitcase on top of the smallest bed he’d ever laid eyes on.

 

“You’re seriously unpacking? We’re only here two weeks!”

 

“Are you not?”  Otabek eyed Yuri’s own, leopard-print suitcase. “You’re not going to unpack at all?”

 

“No?” He had been planning on living out of his suitcase for the week, running laundry, and then living out of it again before he left. It didn’t make sense to unpack the whole suitcase and put it in the stupid drawers.

 

“You’re a mess.”

 

“I’m not.” He protested.

 

“Aren’t you the one who told me you’re completely anal?”  Otabek shot him an incredulous look.

 

“I am!” Yuri whined. “Stop! I am, just not about that shit. About the rest of it. About my skates and my season and all that, not about bullshit like packing and unpacking.”

 

Otabek stared at him, eyes wide, completely amazed. He’d known Yuri kept relatively messy house, he heard the roommate of his young friend complain over the phone a few times and Skype made it pretty obvious, too.

 

“Don’t stare at me like that, asshole!”  

 

“Sorry, I’m just trying to understand why you aren’t unpacking your clothes.”  Otabek snorted.

 

“Sorry, I’m just trying to understand why you are!” Yuri snapped back. “You’re here for two weeks, what’s the point?”

 

“Organization!”  

 

Yuri rolled his eyes and waved him off. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted and then they’d go and get dinner. He needed food, Otabek probably did, too. He decided to go back to work in the meantime. It might be summer, but not going to school with a normal schedule meant school year-round.

 

He was halfway through another short answer when Otabek hit him in the face with something.  It was definitely stiff plastic, but it was wrapped in packing because he could feel it, a small box with a nylon strap. He looked at it, now on the ground, curiously.

 

“It’s a cooler bag.”  Otabek told him. “To keep ice in—Yura, seriously.”

 

Yuri gritted his teeth and turned back to his work.

 

“Yura.  You need to take care of yourself. You’ve said it before, skating is your life.”  His best friend said quietly. “Your body needs help—“

 

“Stop, ok?” Yuri snapped. “I’ll give it a rest when the camp is over. I just need to make it through this.  Viktor is _my_ coach now and I want to prove I deserve him. I need to prove that I’m not him, I’m better, I can be better than him.”

 

Otabek gave him a tired look, but did nothing other than sigh.

 

He could manage two weeks.

 

They worked in silence, Otabek unpacking and Yuri with a pencil in a notebook, for the better part of an hour. It took some extra effort out of him, but Yuri managed to keep himself quiet. They’d never fought before and he wouldn’t really consider this a fight.  This was a small disagreement, like they had here and there.

 

It made him feel shitty though. Really, _really_ shitty.

 

“I know you’re just trying to help.”  He had to grow up sometime and admit he was in the wrong on this one. “I’m just angry.”

 

“I know you are.”  Otabek was still being short with him. “But you don’t have to be angry with me. I’m not the one who fucked up your knee.”

 

“No.”  Yuri agreed, voice tight. “I did.”

 

They were silent again, this time staring at each other. Each one was waiting for the other to give in.

 

“Let’s just go get food.”  Yuri said finally.

 

This time, unlike any time before, he felt so desperate to just makeup and move on. He wanted to hear about Otabek’s flight, about his fellow skaters and how they were, what they were up to. He wanted to hear more stories about nights out and wild parties. Beka was _cool_ like Yuri couldn’t believe. He was talented, seriously, and deserved every medal he one plus some more that Yuri was adamant he had been unfairly cheated out of.

 

That was what killed him.

 

If Otabek was as obsessive as Yuri was, he’d be the actual next Nikiforov. No one would would ever dare to call the Kazakh hero a dark horse. He wasn’t coming out of no where. He was just _great_.  

 

Yuri didn’t have time for that type of stuff. As it were, he was already falling behind. So he lived vicariously through his best friend, listened with rapt attention to every little detail he spared.

 

“So you mixed your programs already? That’s so sick!”  Finally, they were conversing normally again. Thankfully, in the dead of Tokyo, they could find food easily and also English-speakers. “Do I get to hear it?”

 

“No!” Otabek laughed. Yuri’s grin brightened, and he _knew_ it. “You’ll hear it when everyone else does.”

 

His voice had dropped from his initial exclamation as he leaned across the table, like he was taunting Yuri with the information he wanted to know. Yuri leaned in as well, eyes narrowed.

 

“What is the point of having a best friend if he doesn’t share the cool shit with you, Beka?”

 

Otabek raised an eyebrow.

 

“I share plenty of cool shit with you. I shared plenty of music with you that you are free to use if you’d like.”  He held up a finger to signal for one more moment of Yuri’s consideration. “But, I earn commission off you for finding it.”

 

“What are you?”  Yuri rolled his eyes. “A realtor?”

 

“Of music.”  Otabek straightened himself up again. “You want to head out?”

 

They had already paid for their food before sitting down. Or, rather, Otabek had paid for both of their dinners. Yuri had protested weakly, but appreciated the sentiment. Really, he just didn’t want to deal with another argument and the look his best friend had given him made him feel self conscious.

 

“Dessert?”  

 

“I’m ok.”  Yuri reassured. “We can just head back. I don’t really care.”

 

“You’re growing,”  A pause. “You’ve lost weight.”

 

“Shut up, not everyone can be as hot as you.”  Yuri rolled his eyes and then frowned.

 

_What did I just say?_

 

Otabek stared at him for a moment before he burst into laughter.

 

_Well, at least he seems to get what I meant._

 

He had really just meant to say buff or fucking ripped, because he was. Yuri would always be a little jealous of that. Maybe if he looked like that he wouldn’t have to live with all girls. That was a fact that was still bothering him, even now Anya had moved out. Katya had moved herself into his room and out of the triple since…well, since it had been a triple.

 

He asked Lilia a million times and she just stared down her long nose at him and raised an eyebrow.

 

He stopped asking.

 

“Thanks.”  Otabek grinned at him. “You’re not so bad yourself, I’m sure your angels would agree.”

 

“Oh my god.”  Yuri groaned, covering his face with his hands as his best friend tugged him into a standing position and guided him out the door, still laughing.

  



	3. Chapter 3

**Otabek**

**This song. Listen to it.**

 

**Yuri**

**Yeah? Ok?**

 

**Otabek**

**What do you think?**

 

**Yuri**

**Did you make this?**

 

**Otabek**

**Yeah.**

 

**Otabek**

**I mean**

 

**Otabek**

**I mixed it?**

 

Something inside Yuri swelled, maybe he was like the Grinch and it was just his heart.  The fact that Otabek had remixed a song  _ just for him. _ It wasn’t anything he could do much with. It was a dance song, like dance as in a club. He could use it for an exhibition, but he kind of wanted to keep this private for now. 

 

“You asshole,”  Yuri realized why the beat sounded a little familiar when there were finally some lyrics to work with. His best friend had worked in Kendrick Lamar—one of Yuri’s guilty pleasures—specifically the song DNA which he hadn’t really fallen in love with at first. It felt like it had too much relevance to Lamar’s life and honestly because of that he had a hard time connecting to it. 

 

But, Otabek had changed it, made it tell a different story. 

 

**Yuri**

**You really like soldiers**

 

**Otabek**

**You noticed**

 

**Yuri**

**You’re an asshole**

 

Yuri sent a quick snapchat of himself with his headphones on at the rink on his break. 

 

**Otabek**

**Are you crying?**

 

**Otabek**

**You’re such a sap, Yura**

 

**Yuri**

**I’M NOT CRYING**

 

**Yuri**

**THAT IS FROM MY COLD**

 

**Yuri**

**I HAVE A COLD, YOU ASSHOLE.**

 

**Otabek**

**Sure you do**

 

The notification he received when Otabek snapped him back made him jump. He’d been typing back a response and accidentally hit to open his snapchat. The photo was just Otabek and one of his rink mates posing jokingly in one of the gym mirrors. A third rink mate that Yuri recognized in the background, a woman, was sticking her tongue out. 

 

**Otabek**

**Did you get your Xray results?**

 

Yuri bit his lip. He’d spent since camp collecting extra cash that he could spare (not unlike how he saved for camp to begin with) towards an x-ray. Otabek had convinced him to look into his obscene joint pain. He’d only just gotten it done the past Friday and had needed to wait over the weekend to get his results. 

 

**Yuri**

**Yeah. Nothing came up. No former breaks or anything.**

 

**Otabek**

**Well that’s good.**

 

Was it? No, Otabek, it really wasn’t. Soft tissue was harder to fix and way more complicated to understand and get to the root off.

 

“Yuri! Ice, you need to drill your quad lutz.”  

 

Yuri put his phone down and stood up again, pulling off his guards before slipping back onto the ice without a word. His lutz was fine last season, until he fucking went and grew again. Viktor was all about reminding him that he was growing still and needed to run drills over and over again. 

 

“Who were you texting?”  His coach asked playfully while fixing his husband’s position. The lucky bastard was already running his short program almost all the way through. Yuri was only marking his own.

 

Barely. 

 

“Beka, dipshit.”  He snapped back, letting his muscle memory take over as he lifted his leg, turned out over his shoulder, toe pick  _ and _

 

“Under rotated.”  Viktor’s cheery voice came, he hadn’t left his spot on the ice. “Try again.”

 

“Viktor,”  Yuri could hear Katsuki’s hushed voice. “Maybe you should actually try—“

 

“No, no,”  Viktor waved him off. Yuri could see him before he took off across the ice again. “He’s landing, he’s just wrong.”

 

This time, Yuri knew he’d popped it before he even left the ice. 

 

“That doesn’t even score!”  There was far too much glee in his coach’s voice. “Again.”

 

Third try would be a charm, but he slammed into the ice.

 

“Don’t fucking touch me.”  He held up his hand to stop the couple from coming at him. “‘m fine.”

 

“Do you want—“

 

“Katsudon, if you even fucking mention the harness  _ one more time _ .”  The blond regretted standing up the moment his knee cracked.  Katsuki’s eyes widened, because naturally his aching joints had to be  _ that damn loud _ . “I know how to land these jumps I just—“

 

“Go back, let’s run everything while we still have this much of the rink. Mark your jumps or downgrade them if you’re comfortable.”  Viktor even eyed him warily.

 

“Fuck you.”  Yuri spat, brushing himself off indignantly and skating to the center of the ice. This would be his first run through that Viktor had even suggested jumps as an option and he was going to prove to him he could do it perfectly. “I’m fine.”

 

Viktor had helped choose his music for the season. He was doing a piece from Don Quixote because Viktor wanted him to be a fucking stereotype and he was positive it was just leftover because Yuuri didn’t want it. His free skate they hadn’t run through in full but he revealed it in two weeks time. They were too focused on trying to drill components separately. 

 

His good knee slammed into the ice in the middle of a combination and he shouted. 

 

“Skip off-ice.”  Viktor called to him, sounding suddenly concerned. That was new for him.  “Go home and ice up. Come back tomorrow.”

 

Just to prove a point, Yuri repeated the combination and landed it successfully as he was on his way out, albeit wobbly as shit. 

 

He tugged on soft guards and sat down to unlace his boots, frantically wiping at his face. The two old men wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing him cry out of pain  _ or  _ frustration. They didn’t get that privilege. Ignoring the rest of Viktor’s speech, and after much effort pulling his skates off and shoving them (gently, he couldn’t afford to replace prematurely ruined boots right now) into his rink bag, he stalked back to the lockers. 

 

The walk home was slower than normal, he didn’t want to risk his stupid coach driving past to find him and seeing him struggling. Anyways, wasn’t limping worse for you than just sucking it up and walking?

 

“Oh!” Alina met him at the door to their apartment, absolutely surprised. “I was about to—are you ok?”

 

Concern took over her features as she took him in, eyes scanning his body. Deciding she couldn’t identify the problem immediately, Alina took his hand and bag and led him to their flimsy little couch only to disappear into their “kitchen”.  It was really just a stove and fridge hidden behind a wall, not a full room, but she returned with a frozen gel pack which she hammered against the wall twice before holding out for him. 

 

He was reminded momentarily of the past July, when Otabek held an icepack to his knee after a particularly long day (though it had “ended” at five, they crashed at seven).  Careful fingers had probed the swollen joint, touching and pressing gently, trying to find the sensitivity before he held the bag they’d picked up on the way home to it and rummaged through his bag for epsom gel to lather it in and wrap it. 

 

“You don’t have to—“ Yuri protested, voice losing it’s usual sharp edge. The memory at the forefront of his mind was fond, soft and gentle. It had been almost…less friendly and more domestic, the way he’d watched Viktor treat Yuuri now and then when he was sore. 

 

“It’s fine. My sister’s ankle used to act up.” Alina brushed a strand of hair behind her ear as she set to work on it. 

 

He hadn’t known she had a sister.

 

The surprise must have been evident on his face, because when she looked up at him, she smiled gently. 

 

“She quit when we were fifteen, didn’t make it through puberty in dance.”  She explained softly. “It’s not as bad as it is for you guys, with all those crazy jumps, but it’s…she had a hard time with flexibility and finding her balance in lifts. She’s a lot taller than me now.”

 

That was hard to believe.  Alina was pretty tall and thin. 

 

“She’s also too heavy, so that didn’t help.”

 

Oh.

 

“Is it the bottom or the top?”  She brushed her fingers over the kneecap idly. 

 

“It feels like my tibia is crashing through to my femur.”  His tone was a little harsher again, but she didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she seemed to be inspecting his other knee, trying to identify exactly where it was swollen before she pressed the ice more firmly against it. 

 

“Twenty minutes.”  She told him, pulling his hand to rest on the pack that she had placed on the bottom half of his knee. “You should go to the infirmary.”

 

“I got an x-ray.” Yuri blew hair out of his face. Why did she even care?  “Nothing is broken.”

 

She winced, the same way he had when he heard the negative results. 

 

Because they both knew what it meant, even if Otabek chose to look on the bright side of everything. 

 

“Growing pains, maybe?”  Her normally cheery voice was being forced. He could hear it. 

 

Instead of answering, he pulled his phone out of his pocket with his free hand. Alina sat back, letting go of the ice pack entirely and watching him. He could feel her eyes on him. They were strange, almost dark grey and it had always put him off a little. Her hair was dark brown, but it looked red in sunlight. Honestly, in sunlight she sometimes looked like a whole different person.  

 

_ Why am I letting her creep me out like this? She needs to just leave me alone. Doesn’t she know I can see how fucked up this issue is? _

 

“Um.  Yura?”  She asked, voice suddenly very small. He only turned to fix deep green eyes on her because he was surprised to hear her scared. In the few years they’d known each other, she was rarely nervous. “I was—I-I was wondering…do you want to—um—go out sometime?”

 

Yuri stared at her blankly.

 

“Don’t you usually go out with Kira?” 

 

“No, not  _ out _ like—not like a club—I mean we can go to a club if you want—I just—“ Her face was covered by her hands and dropped her head.  “Like a date.”

 

_ What? _

 

He had never, in all his life, ever been asked on a date. Not once.  He didn’t go out, not even with her and Kira, he was too busy, too focused, sleep, breathe, skate, sometimes eat. He didn’t have the time. 

 

His heart was racing and he felt like he suddenly couldn’t breathe, chest too tight to even just release the air it was holding. 

 

“Uh—“ Is this how Katsudon felt when he was having an anxiety attack?  “Yeah. Sure?”

 

_ WHAT? _

 

He hadn’t anticipated those words coming from his mouth, apparently Alina hadn’t either. 

 

“”R-really?” She squeaked. “O-Oh my god.  Ok! I didn’t—ok!”

 

Her grin spread across her face, flushed cheeks still present as she beamed up at him from her spot on the floor. 

 

“How about Friday? There’s this new place, we can get in and there’s no cover charge. We can pregame so you don’t have to pay for drinks there—“  _ Whoa, whoa, whoa wait. What the fuck was going on? What was pregaming? Didn’t you just go out for drinks and like snacks and shit?   _ “And  _ oh my god _ Ok! I have to go, I have a late rehearsal for a class piece. I—keep ice on that. You have thirteen minutes left!”

 

He watched, eyes wide and completely silently as she ran to gather her bag and dip out the door with only a kiss on his cheek as a goodbye. He brushed over the spot with his fingertips, completely still and quiet otherwise. His left hand still pressed her ice pack to his aching knee. 

 

“Why is Alina in such a—oh.”  Kira blinked at him upon entering the apartment. “Huh.  Well. I’ll be damned.”

 

Instantly snapped out of it, Yuri’s brow furrowed. 

 

“What?”  

 

“For once, you’re out of your room.”  She commented with a shrug, immediately crossing to the sink to fill her water bottle. “That never happens.  Second, I thought you were gay.”

 

_ Why? _

 

She read the question on his face without even looking up.

 

“Most guys in dance and skating are, aren’t they?”  She shrugged again, finally looking up at him again. “You kind of get used to assuming.”

 

He glared at her and, dropping the icepack at the same time he scooped up his bags, he stormed off into his room. Fuck her. Seriously.

 

Not that the idea of gay people bothered him. Katsudon was fine. 

 

Viktor was annoying but that was an unrelated issue, obviously.  So on that count, he was fine, too. Mila, he knew, wasn’t one to worry about gender so much when it came to dating. He knew she’d dated women before. Whatever, it’s all fine. Who gives a fuck? If you want to waste time  _ dating  _ when you could be doing literally  _ anything else _ more important, then that was your own business. 

 

So why did her assumption sting him so much?  Maybe it was the same reason figure skating tabloids bothered him. He didn’t like people talking about or worrying about his life. They could keep their noses out of his business. 

 

“Otabek, pick up!” Yuri snapped, hanging up at the sound of the answering machine and dialing immediately. It rang again. “Fuck you. It’s only nine—“

 

“Hey, Yura.”  The sound of his friend’s voice made his irritation drop a few levels. “I’m actually out with—“

 

“Is that Yuri Plisetsky?”  A feminine voice asked excitedly in the background. “Oh my god! Can I say hi?”

 

There was a bit of a scratching noise as, Yuri assumed, the phone was passed over to the female speaker. 

 

“Hi, Yuri! Otabek talks about you  _ all the time _ !”  She sounded so…bubbly, like Alina but somehow worse. God knows how that could exist. “More than he talks about his friends here, even! It’s so cool to meet you.”

 

“Hi.” Yuri said flatly, fingers picking at the fabric of his pants as he waited impatiently to speak to Otabek again. “You are?”

 

“Oh! I’m his girlfriend Ayzere!” He heard Otabek’s voice but couldn’t make out what he said, just the sound of the phone being passed over again. 

 

Of course, Yuri had known Ayzere existed. She was all over Otabek’s instagram. Yuri’s best friend was notoriously ignorant of his social media, posting for the sake of maintaining a fanbase and financial support from sponsors as an influencer and not because he wanted to. It had changed recently, dappled with photos of this girl—tagged as Ayzere something-or-other—but no hashtags or anything to imply they were together. Beka hadn’t ever mentioned her.

 

“Hey, sorry.  I was actually going to introduce you guys over Skype, but you called.”  Otabek apologized, voice predictably void of evident emotion. “Can I text you later—“

 

“I have a girlfriend.”  Yuri blurted and immediately bit down  _ hard  _ on his knuckles. 

 

“Wh—“  There was a pause and then laughter. “Holy shit, Yura,  _ what _ ?”

 

He said something quietly, sounding as if he’d put his hand over the receiver a moment. 

 

“Sorry, I just—you didn’t tell me there was someone you were into?”  The image of his best friend smiling, flashing literally perfectly-white and straightened teeth came to mind as Otabek spoke. 

 

“I—well she asked me but yeah. I don’t—“  Yuri backtracked. “We aren’t—she’s not my  _ girlfriend _ but we have a date.”

 

“That’s great!”

 

_ Is it really, Otabek? _

 

“Yeah.”  Yuri mumbled. 

 

“Hey, well, I need to go. Tomorrow is my only off day and I promised Ayzere a night out, but text me, yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”  Yuri hung up and held his face in his hands. 

 

What the fuck had he just done?

 

* * *

 

 

Friday came way too quickly. Katya had locked him in their shared bedroom to give Alina literally the whole damn apartment to get ready in without Yuri seeing her. He’d literally had time to take a real shower and then had been shoved out the door and into his bedroom without even a moment to dry his hair. 

 

“You know she’s going all out.”  Katya said absentmindedly, sitting in a stretch while on her laptop. She glanced up at him. “You could wear something nicer than a graphic tee.”

 

He glared at her and stalked back to their shared closet. 

 

“Can you try not to look like every douche who dates a dancer?”  She asked. “And also a little less…”

 

She gestured up and down. 

 

“What?” He snapped at her. 

 

“You look like a girl in those pants.”

 

“Fuck you!” Turning back to the closet, he pulled out a  _ nice  _ white t-shirt and the leather jacket he’d stolen from Viktor last fall when it had been chilly out at Skate Canada and he hadn’t brought his own sweatshirt. It had been too big then, but now it had either miraculously shrunk or his growth spurt had officially made him Nikiforov-sized. 

 

Fuck. Another comparison point. 

 

“They’re just very skinny.”  She pointed out, looking at her computer again.  

 

“Not all of us are hyper-aware of our weight.”  That was a low-blow and he knew it, but he could care less. Katya was a step worse than Katsudon, gaining weight like it was no one’s business when she stepped off her diet. 

 

The angry glint in her eye reminded him that he probably shouldn’t have gone there, but seriously fuck her. 

 

“You know she’s a  _ dancer _ .”  She reminded again, voice much more obnoxious than it had been. “And you’re going to a club.  She’s going to be all over you.”

 

“So?”  He used her mirror to look at himself. Yeah. This was fine. He looked normal and like he sort of tried, even though he could care less about this date. He was just doing this because he felt bad. 

 

“So?”  She pressed. “You ok getting a boner in those?”

 

Was that a genuine concern?  He was potentially still growing, but he definitely had reined in his hormones…right?

 

“I’ll be fine.”  He grumbled, hand hesitating over the door. “Can I go outside now?”

 

Closing the laptop and pulling her legs into herself and closing her laptop, Katya began to stand. She intentionally and obnoxiously cracked her hip once before she planted both feet firmly. 

 

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

 

So that was the other thing. This was so childish. All four of them were drinking at the apartment first, and then Katya and Kira would go their own, separate ways. This was one of Katya’s last weekends with them, anyways, because she was headed to a company in Yekaterinasburg.  

 

It was like how he imagined preteens must date from the stories he’d heard (mostly from these three girls) where they’d just go on whole group dates. 

 

The living room revealed that Alina had indeed gone all out. In a pale-blue silk dress that actually did bring out her eyes, Yuri had heard that expression but never really understood it until now, that kind of flared out as it fell. She wasn’t entirely flat up top, which kind of surprised him, but she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her eyes were done up in shades of silver and darker onyx. Her hair fell between her shoulders, pin straight. 

 

Katya, out of the corner of his eye, gave him a look like she was asking him if he was really ok in those pants. Honestly, yes. He’d seen girls wearing way less just between living with them and training with them. If anything, he felt a little disappointed that he didn’t have more of a reaction. Wasn’t that the point of dating? Maybe?  

 

She was really pretty, though. Maybe he’d suggest this look as a costume for Mila.  She could probably rock it, maybe not in blue because of her hair…but still. 

 

“You look—uh—nice.”  Yuri tried to offer her a smile, but suddenly he was actually nervous. That wasn’t something he had anticipated.  It was just Alina, after all. 

 

“Thanks.”  She blushed. “Um, your hair.”

 

Stepping lightly over to him with all the lithe grace of a dancer, she brought her hands up to brush a strand of his hair back into place. He watched her face as she did so, only soothed by the fact she looked just as uncomfortable as he felt even if the emotion was all locked inside her pale grey eyes. 

 

“Thanks.”  

 

She bit her lip. 

 

“Ok, kiddos!”  Kira clapped her hands together, “Drinks all-around! Shots and then we’ll leave in—“

 

Glancing at the clock on her phone, she looked back up and raised the bottle.

 

“Thirty minutes.  Let’s go!”

 

* * *

 

**Yuri**

**I think I’m supposed to be drunk**

 

**Otabek**

**Are you?**

 

**Yuri**

**No**

 

**Yuri**

**I don’t think Alina drank that much either, but idk**

 

**Otabek**

**Keep an eye on her**

 

**Yuri**

**-thumbs up emoji-**

 

**Otabek**

**Lmk how it goes.**

 

Yuri shoved his phone back in his back pocket and looked off to where Alina had disappeared towards the bathrooms. He probably should follow her and make sure she got there and back to the dance floor ok.  That sounded like something Otabek would do for his girlfriend, right? And girls usually traveled in packs, he knew that, so without her friends around she’d be prime target for weirdos. 

 

He talked himself into waiting outside in the “hall” that separated the club from the bathrooms. A little, older woman glared up at him from in front of the door.  She held her hand up to stop him from coming any closer to the entrance to the women’s room. 

 

“I’m not—I’m just waiting.”  He said loudly, but her eyes narrowed. “I’m not trying to get in!”

 

“Yuri?”  Alina pulled the door open and looked at him with surprised eyes. 

 

“I’m not being a creeper, I fucking swear.”  He growled. “I’m just…I didn’t want some fuck to—never mind.”

 

It was obvious no matter what he said, the old woman didn’t change her expression. 

 

He watched Alina pass her a few rubles before leading the way back through the double doors to the club floor. 

 

“Bathroom attendant.”  She said loudly as they stepped into the sea of bodies. “Basically assurance that nothing happens.”

 

Oh. That makes sense. 

 

He was getting tired, if he were being honest, and unlike the girls he had practice tomorrow. Katya had texted him an hour ago letting him know she was bunking with Kira and that he was more than welcome to take Alina home. That seemed stupid to him, given they lived in the same damn home to begin with. 

 

He let Alina guide him through the motions of what was apparently having a good time. He didn’t do this type of thing, not really. Once he’d gone out to find Otabek and this past July he’d gone out  _ with _ Otabek, but not in the same way. Japan’s drinking age was older than Russia’s, so they’d gone someplace pretty low-key and stupid. This was…more like what he’d gotten into in Barcelona and even maybe a bit more intense. People this way and that were just—

 

“Do you want to head out?”  She was on tiptoes to reach his ear, her breath tickling a little too intimately for Yuri’s liking. He nodded and let her take his hand again, weaving them through the bodies towards the front exit once she was positive they had everything they’d come in with. 

 

Compared to the humidity inside, the fresh air was frigid. 

 

“Here.”  Dudes gave girls their jackets to keep warm, right? It seemed like some sort of cheesy shit Beka would do, so he did.  She pulled the leather tightly around herself and poorly hid a smile in it’s collar. 

 

His stomach did a little somersault. 

 

“Thanks.”  

 

The walk home wasn’t as long as it could have been, but neither of them wanted to spring for a cab and transit was long closed. About thirty minutes after they left the club, nearing two in the morning, they managed to get to the steps of their building. The elevators were broken as of current, so they trudged lazily up the steps. The entire time they made very little conversation, Yuri assumed for the most part that she was just as tired as he was. 

 

He was wrong. 

 

She’d been planning.  The whole time, the look in her eyes wasn’t quiet exhaustion, but meticulous assessment and reassessment. Alina was looking for the best time to turn around—it was right before she unlocked their apartment door—and tilt her chin to catch him in a kiss. 

 

It didn’t register at first. This was Yuri’s first kiss, after all, and no one really expects that to be sprung on them, least of all him. His eyes widened in surprise and it was over as quickly as it had begun. She left him with a quick peck, gazing up into his green eyes with her own pale grey as if asking him for more. 

 

He licked his lip, lipstick tasted fucking weird, but complied because people kiss on dates. That’s a thing. Her lips were soft, anyways, even if they did have that weird, indescribable taste of lipstick.  Her hands threaded in the collar of his shirt before he knew what he’d gotten into. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Yuri,” Viktor soothed gently. “It’s not a big deal. You’re still—“

 

“I need to pull this together before the Grand Prix starts.”  Yuri repeated, voice void of any and all emotion as he stared blankly ahead. 

 

“You have a month and a half before Skate America, you’ll be fine—“

 

“Katsudon, shut up for five fucking minutes.”  Yuri snapped. “I should already be competing. Viktor is right. I should have done the Challenger Series—“

 

“You are.  You’ll be at Nebelhorn.  Don’t stress about it too much.”  Viktor soothed. “You’re landing triples right now.  We’ll see where it goes from there. You don’t need quads to—“

 

“Bullshit I don’t need quads!”  But the old man was, unfortunately, right.  With all the changes to scoring within the past year, he didn’t need quads. They weren’t weighted so heavily now, but it still hurt.  He should be able to do this. Even his triples, he was consistently under-rotating even just his loop. His axel was always a weak point but now it was just depressing. 

 

“Get it out before you get onto the ice.”  Viktor’s voice hardened, and his demeanor with it. “You don’t need to be angsty and cranky falling all over. There are children around right now, be an example for once.  If you wake up on the wrong side of the bed, that’s fine. Just don’t bring it here. Leave it at home. Yuuri, on the ice.”

 

Yuuri hurried to finish tying his skates and Yuri glared as he did. The problem to his already bad day was that he hadn’t woken up on the wrong side of the bed at all. He’d woken up in the  _ wrong  _ bed after a night of just…poor decisions.  Now his head was all over, his game was off, he couldn’t think long enough to even keep balance in a spin well enough not to travel the length of a soccer field. 

 

Last night, Lina hadn’t pressured him, per-se. Their roommates bunked in his own room and left them hers so he kind of stayed out of that expectation. All they really did was kiss. She seemed to want to do more, but every time her fingers traveled anywhere lower than his abdomen he’d shied back. 

 

Too much of a wimp to mention it to her when he saw her this morning (he’d woken up before her and taken a shower), Yuri had just grabbed his bag and left. 

 

**Otabek**

**You don’t have to sleep with every person you date. It’s fine.**

 

**Yuri**

**I just didn’t like it**

 

**Yuri**

**It was fine. Kissing.**

 

Truth be told, he still couldn’t describe the feeling in words. Just subpar, maybe, could do it. It didn’t make sense what the fuss was about, if everyone else loved it. His own fucking coach was kissing his husband every chance he got. 

 

**Otabek**

**Thats cool then. Chill out.**

 

**Yuri**

**Yeah**

 

**Otabek**

**Want to watch something later?  Binge something. Day off tomorrow.**

 

**Yuri**

**Fuck.**

 

**Yuri**

**Please.**

 

They, he and Alina, had gone on two dates now. The one on Friday was fine, also ended in kissing though they’d wound up in separate beds thankfully. This past one, unfortunately for him, was planned without his input. He’d normally never go out on a day before rink time. He valued sleep and skating more than dating. 

 

Much more than dating. 

 

Hopefully a movie night with Otabek would mellow him out because Viktor was right, again. He needed to chill, desperately. 

  
“Is it choppy on your end? It’s choppy on my end.”  Yuri’s nose wrinkled in frustration. “Ugh. Can you see me?”   
  
“I can see you.” Otabek reassured him, amusement evident on his face. “What do you want to watch?”   
  
“Something stupid and mindless.”     
  
He just wanted to take his mind off of life. It was obviously spiraling out of control, what with his knee bothering him every other day and Alina trying desperately to jump his bones.    
  
“Is she bothering you that much?”  Otabek raised an eyebrow. “Just tell her you don’t really want to date anymore?”   
  
“How the fuck do I do that? I don’t want to like…upset her.”   
  
“Look at you, caring about other people!”   
  
“Shut up.  Pick a movie.”   
  
It was certainly mindless, and Yuri wound up falling asleep halfway through when the call disconnected. His eyes had already been closing and he was only barely conscious enough to comprehend Otabek trying to call him back.    
  
He woke up to a text on his phone.     
  
**Otabek** **  
****Sleep tight**   
  
Why did something in his stomach jump?   
  


* * *

  
  
Yuri’s showing at Nebelhorn was…acceptable. He didn’t really consider it a showing, it didn’t count when he was the only skater from the Grand Prix even competing at Nebelhorn. Of course he’d make the podium, it wasn’t that hard to place third when everyone there was already a loser.    
  
This was going to be harder, though.    
  
Rostelecom was only his first qualifier and he didn’t have the advantage several of his competitors did. Most of them had already finished one qualifier, they knew the playing field and they knew their place on it.    
  
He wasn’t unaware of the field, he’d seen the livestreams and the videos, but he didn’t know how he’d stack up. A prodigy with three quads in his repertoire during his senior debut season at the age of fifteen, couldn’t even manage a triple axel in his current state. People used to compare him to his coach in a positive light, bow it was just to remind him that he’d never reach that same level.    
  
“Oh, fuck off, Kolyada.”  He snapped at his phone. Yuri hadn’t bothered to follow the Alpen Trophy stream, too close to competition dates for him, but he had the updates on his phone.    
  
Yuri had known the scores, but now people were calling him the future of Russia’s men’s skating?     
  
Who in their right mind—   
  
“He’s a teammate.”  Viktor reminded in that annoying sing-song voice that he used when Yuri was being particularly childish.    
  
“Only in nationality.”  Yuri shoved past him and found a place to warm up. Yuuri was already in his zone. He would be two people after, a surprise to Yuri only because he hadn’t expected to go so late. Given his recent scores, he’d assumed he would be pushed to one of the earlier slots…   
  
It’s only the short program.    
  
He could make it respectable.   
  
**Otabek** **  
****Good luck**   
  
Yuri silenced his phone and slid it away from him. He didn’t want to check it, too many distractions. Closing his eyes, he focused on his normal post-warmup. They’d already touched the ice.  There was one person on the ice, one on deck, and then Yuri.    
  
Wincing as his knee twinged, the young man grunted in response to a call for his name. Viktor eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing until they were actually ringside in order to give Yuri more time to just mentally prepare.    
  
Times like this, Yuri felt sorry that Viktor wound up with two of probably the most uptight skaters in terms of warmup requirements. Yuuri blocked everything out and said nothing/wanted nothing said until he was on the ice.  Yuri didn’t actually care, but you were far more likely to get chewed out by him for speaking when he was getting ready at a competition than if you just waited until after.    
  
“You can keep to triples, be perfect, and still come out respectably.”  His coach reminded him softly. “Don’t push yourself. Frustration will only make you fall apart by the end.”   
  
“I know.”   
  
If you asked Yuri if he’d taken his coach’s advice, he’d lie and say no. He’d downgraded not because he couldn’t land a quad loop consistently, but because he needed the fraction of a second to finish his step sequence. He’d managed to land without making his knee soreness obvious, but it was still there. Every landing was another ache in his joint. His tibia was pushing up and up and up, if only by feeling and not in the literal sense. 

  
He didn’t falter, though, and he’d soak in epsom later to try and desperately recover before the following day. 

 

In the end, his score was...acceptable. 

 

86.01.   
  
He could fix that

 

* * *

 

  
“Keep it easy, Yuri.” Viktor looked him over carefully. It was obvious he suspected something was wrong, he’d requested that his younger student refrain from any jumps and keep to the lightest warm-up routine possible. “Just like yesterday. Remember. Your worst showing can be better than someone else’s best. You’re that good.”

 

The words didn’t ease the tightness in his chest. They didn’t negate the text message he’d received from Otabek that same morning. 

 

**Otabek**

**You can withdraw on the ice if it gets bad.**

 

**Otabek**

**Please don’t push yourself if you’re that hurt**

 

**Yuri**

**I’m fine**

 

**Otabek**

**The picture you sent last night?**

 

**Otabek**

**That was swollen. Badly.**

 

**Otabek**

**That’s not fine**

 

**Yuri**

**If I need to withdraw, I will**

 

**Otabek**

**Be safe. Be smart.**

 

“Representing Russia, Yuri Plisetsky!”   
  


This was it. He could redeem himself from his short program. 86.01 was not impossible to make the podium with. He just needed this to count. 

 

_ Hold in there.  _ He told his knee, not even sparing it a second glance. 

 

_ One. Two. Three… _

  
Yuri took a deep breath, then skated out, gliding in a wide circle around the ice. He practiced the gesture of entering a jump a couple of times, getting the feel for it. His knee was in a little pain, but he ignored it. For now, he made his way to the center of the ice, stopped, and took his pose. If he wanted to make the podium, if he wanted to make the Final, he’d need a big score now. All he needed was to not blow it.    
  
The music started. The melody eased in, and Yuri stayed still for a few beats before beginning to skate, creating large loops across the ice, twisting and turning as he built up speed. His first jump was going to be a quad lutz in combination with a triple toe loop. After a couple more passes across the ice, he entered into the jump. The landing wasn’t clean, but he was pretty sure he’d rotated completely. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the momentum to launch into the triple toe and could only pull off a double. Cursing himself silently, he transitioned into an Ina Bauer. Still, things could be worse. Just make the rest of it clean, he reminded himself.    
  
He approached his next jumping pass, mind focused on making it happen, damn it, and he dug his toe pick into the ice for his quad flip. That one felt good. He landed nicely with minimal pain. Taking a deep breath he made another loop around the rink, the music swirling around him as he danced across the ice, setting up his quad salchow. Do it, he told himself as he entered the jump. He sprang, but he could feel himself lose control as he landed, spinning out. His knee twinged, and he fell back, catching himself before he fell completely. Fuck, was his only thought as he pushed himself off into a combination spin. This, at least, would cause him no trouble.    
  
Exiting the spin, he glided out and entered his spread eagle as the music picked up. Nearing the end of the ice, he entered his footwork sequence with a flourish, bouncing along with the rhythm. He turned round and made his way across the rink once more, trying desperately to add vim and vigor to his program. He could make it up on the components. He entered his quad lutz, willing himself to stay upright. Blessedly he did, but he two-footed the landing, tweaking his left knee in the process. Hissing with pain, he kept going, trying not to let it show on his face.    
  
Make it up in the components.   
  
He went immediately into a quad toe. He took off with his left, and as soon as his toepick hit the ice he knew the jump was off. He barely managed to hold onto a single. Another spread eagle and footwork led to a quad salchow. This one landed worse than his first, and he hit the ice hard. At this point, there was no more making it up, and he knows it. He might’ve had a chance at the podium at the beginning, but there was no hope now. He wouldn’t even have a chance in hell at fourth. He picked himself up off the ice and continued, the music swelling around him, a soundtrack to his utter failure. Gritting his teeth, he launched himself into a triple axel and hit the ice again. His knee was throbbing now, but there was nothing to be done.    
  
The combination spin was at least decently clean, and it gave him time to reflect on how to continue. He had one more jumping pass left. If he could land that one, maybe he could be okay. If he could do that much, he might be able to redeem himself at the next Grand Prix event, even if he didn’t make it to the Final. He could make it up for Nationals, and then Euros, and then Worlds, and it would be okay. He just needed to land that last combination. Footwork led to a flying camel spin, and then it was time. Triple lutz. Loop. Triple flip.   
  
He’d built up quite a bit of momentum, and despite his knee screaming at him to just stop already, he tried for it. The triple lutz ended up being a double lutz, and after the loop there was no triple flip. What he’d just done could’ve been done by any novice skater. And they probably could have done it better than he had. There was only one element left, a combination spin. He ended up right in the middle of the ice, spinning for his life, but he could feel himself traveling, his whole body screaming at him, his knee positively begging for mercy as he contorted himself into each position. His music ends with a flourish, and when he reached his final pose (two seconds late), the applause of the audience felt like a shameful chorus, mocking him and his failure.    
  
As soon as he’d finished, he took the weight off of his left leg, pushing himself off and heading for the boards. It was time for the kiss and cry, to see just how far he had fallen. He wondered just how low rock bottom really was. He wondered how much farther he had to go.    
  
Viktor didn’t say anything, which was worse than if he’d started yelling. Yuri tried not to make it so obvious as he stumbled, leaning too hard to counter his weight while putting a guard on his right skate and losing balance.    
  
He hissed through his teeth, but managed to get to the booth without falling. His coach kept glancing at him from the side.    
  
_ Bad. That was bad.  _   
  
So bad, in fact. He was hyper-aware of the failure in every passing, silent second. His hands came to his mouth, a nail finding its way between his teeth before Viktor tapped his thigh stiffly. He was on camera, best not to show unbecoming habits—all that bullshit.    
  
Yes. He understood. It was bad. There was no reason to keep him waiting for his score. He knew he’d fucked up. They could just say it. He didn’t want a numerical score, he didn’t want to know how badly—   
  
“The scores for Yuri Plisetsky.” But he was already zoning out. “For his free skate he received 138.46 points. His combined score is 224.47. He is now—“   
  
No tears. No frustration. No...   
  
There wasn’t any emotion.    
  
He felt nothing.    
  
“Up.” Viktor’s voice was rough. He was sounding more and more like Yakov each day, except, Yuri reminded himself, Yakov would’ve known. Yuri wouldn’t have skated today if the old man were still his coach.    
  
“You told me nothing was wrong yesterday.” He hissed. “You told me that again this morning in warmup.”    
  
There was no privacy at a competition, not even in the hotel. Everyone stayed in the same cheap places, after all. Viktor chewing him out in front of literally everyone just a hallway away from the ice while his other student warmed up? Not unusual in itself, but Yuri didn’t feel like admitting an injury in front of an audience.    
  
“Nothing—“   
  
Viktor cocked an eyebrow.    
  
“Right. I forgot. I was only entirely incapable of putting weight on my left leg while in the midst of my growth spurt.” He agreed sardonically. “You should have retired. It wasn’t worth finishing the program. You could have just ruined your career on whatever is wrong with you—“   
  
“Katsuki?” A volunteer called hopefully. Viktor paled and turned his head.    
  
“Yes. He’s here. He’ll be ready in a moment.” Yuuri was across the room, Yuri spotted him with his eyes closed and headphones silencing the hustle around him. “Sorry for not checking in.”   
  
He gave Yuri a look that said their conversation wasn’t over before going to gather Yuuri’s things.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @theoriginalzinc for help in Yuri's program because I do not know what an ice skate is.


	4. Chapter 4

“What do you mean, you already had an x-ray?”  Viktor asked.

 

Yuri had never heard such absolute fury in his coach’s voice. What was worse, Viktor didn’t  _ yell.  _ He wasn’t Yakov. He snapped and snarled, but never yelled. Being snarled at while trying not to flinch as medical staff touched tender spots to try and identify the exact nature of the problem wasn’t enjoyable and certainly not on the list of things Yuri wanted to be doing instead of the Grand Prix. 

 

“Viktor—“  Yuuri soothed.  Fucking Katsuki had to come, asshole hadn’t had time to even absorb what happened to Yuri before skating his own literally perfect program. Anxiety be damned, because even if Yuri had managed a semi-decent score, he’d have been fucked anyways. 

 

“No, Yuuri, this is serious. How long have you known about your knee?  How long have you been keeping this a secret?”

 

Yuri bit his lip and closed his eyes. He really didn’t want to be dealing with this right now. 

 

“Since…it only got bad this past season. It’s been happening since my growth spurt started.”  He said quietly. 

 

“Yuri, don’t cry.”  Yuuri’s attention turned onto him, but Yuri wouldn’t open his eyes. 

 

Everything was happening overwhelmingly quickly. They wanted to move him to the hospital, that’s why this argument had started, to make sure nothing was broken. Except, Yuri knew nothing was broken. This was the same pain he’d been feeling all this time. There was no difference except for the magnitude. 

 

Or, at least not enough difference to suggest to him something might be broken.

 

“I-I saved up last year. Got one after training camp. I’m not—It’s not broken.”  He rubbed at his face furiously. 

 

“He should get an MRI then,”  The EMT suggested, “Test for soft tissue, meniscus tears, anything like that.”

 

He couldn’t afford that. There was no way. The blond opened his mouth to protest, but Viktor was already accepting the suggestion. They were talking about calling an ambulance.

 

“Yuri, are you ok?”  Katsudon asked him quietly, kneeling to be even with him. 

 

“No ambulance.”  The younger croaked. “I can’t—no ambulance.”

 

Viktor glanced over his shoulder, frustration still shining brightly in his eyes. 

 

“Fine.”

 

“Can we, can we go tomorrow?”  He pleaded. Yuuri still needed to stay anyways, til the end at least, and he didn’t want to go for an MRI in this minute. He expected the emergency aspect of it would make the price skyrocket and already his frazzled mind was trying to figure out where he could skimp to make ends meet and still pay off  _ that  _ type of medical care. 

 

“Yuri, this is serious.  Do you even know what you could have done?”  Viktor snapped. “Entire career, down the drain, is that what you wanted?”

 

“I can’t—I can’t do this right now.”  

 

Katsudon was making soothing noises in the back of his throat, but they didn’t do much. Yuri felt like his own chest was constricting him. He needed to change out of the costume, the neckline wasn’t low enough. He couldn’t breathe. It was choking him, making him nauseated enough to vomit. 

 

He gagged. 

 

Some poor EMT shoved a bag into his hands and Katsuki stood up only to sit down a foot away on the little bench. 

 

“Breathe, Yuri,”  He reminded gently. 

 

Vision blurred by tears, Yuri choked. 

 

“C-can’t.”

 

“Is he having a panic attack?” Viktor was an absolute dumbass sometimes. Yuri wanted to slap him. Of course he wasn’t having a panic attack, he was just feeling overwhelmed. They were telling him he had to spend money he didn’t have on a medical exam that might not even come back with anything while he also had to withdraw from the Grand Prix, meaning he wasn’t earning the money he just needed to live even without the dumb MRI. 

 

_ It wasn’t a panic attack.  _

 

“Viktor, you’re yelling at him over something he knows.”  Yuuri reminded. “I don’t really blame him.”

 

_ Not a panic attack, pig.  I’m not you. _

 

_ I’m nothing like you. _

 

It took him god knows how long to realize Viktor’s husband was still trying to get him to breathe with him. It wasn’t really working, Yuri’s rapidly increasing heart rate only served to worry him more. He couldn’t have a heart attack right? He was young and fit, there was no way.

 

“Yuri, what you’re feeling is perfectly normal.”  Yuuri’s voice broke through to him. “You’re not dying.”

 

_ Did I say that aloud? _

 

“H-hurts.”  

 

If you asked Yuri even just forty minutes later if he had cried himself stupid in the arms of fucking Yuuri Katsuki, he’d deny it. There was no way, he wasn’t weak like that. 

 

But if you were there, you knew that he didn’t even give Katsuki the chance to process the proximity change. Viktor watched as the young man struggled to even his breathing and get his heart rate to sinus rhythm while he and the EMT discussed possible further plans for evaluation. 

 

And if Yuuri heard the teen’s whimpers for his best friend, he didn’t ever mention it. 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day found Yuri awakened by Makka’s barking to be let out and the distinct sound of non-retractable claws on hardwood. How the two old men managed to afford such a nice home was beyond Yuri, unless Viktor was still receiving money from his parents. There was no way he could still be making so much off sponsorships alone, was there?

 

“Oh good, you’re up.”  Yuuri poked his head in.  The man was already fully dressed and looked ready for a morning jog. 

 

Except, the sunlight in the window suggested it was actually pretty late. That made sense, they’d only been in Moscow the night before. Viktor had rushed them back home to St. Petersburg on a last minute flight because of  Yuri’s injury. They’d gotten home around four, so it tracked they’d slept in. 

 

“I’m going to grab you ice. You should keep ice on your knee for twenty minutes. You can cycle on and off for twenty if you have any swelling and then when I get back I’ll lend you some balm to put on it.”  He rattled on, opening the door a little wider. “Viktor is out grabbing some more, because apparently we’re almost out. Then tomorrow he’ll take you to the imaging center and you’ll go from there.”

 

It all sounded very plain and straightforward. 

 

As if they had been talking about this while he was asleep.  That was uncomfortable. 

 

“Otabek called you, but you were out cold this morning.”

 

“Does he know?”  Yuri was embarrassed to hear his own voice sound so small and scared. 

 

“He doesn’t  _ know  _ but he heard and saw what everyone else did.”  Katsuki offered a reassuring smile. 

 

Right.  224.47 as a total score wasn’t so stellar.  If he hadn’t seen the program, Otabek would still know something wasn’t right. 

 

“I messaged him on Instagram last night to let him know you were ok. I guess he wanted to hear from you himself.”

 

That was very like his best friend. 

 

“I told him you’d call back but that you wouldn’t know much until tomorrow or maybe even later, whenever the results come back.”  The older man continued without a pause until that moment. “Um. Yuri, if you’re scared about the MRI, it’s ok. Everyone has an injury here or there, and some just need some extra time. I’m sure PT can help—“

 

_ Oh god.  They expected he’d need recovery time, too?  It couldn’t possibly be that bad, he’d lasted this long!  _

 

“I can’t take the time off.”  Yuri said, voice barely above a whisper.  

 

There was a loud sigh, like Katsuki fully expected this issue, or even as if he thought this was some sort of melodrama from Yuri’s end. 

 

“I’ll cover it myself, if you need.”  He said firmly. “Viktor doesn’t have full medical staff yet, even taking over for Yakov didn’t really give him that luxury. Many of his connections are similarly older, retirement age. I know working with a coach who’s starting from scratch is hard, it means you don’t have the same…amenities that maybe being with someone more established could offer.

 

“Point is:  I know it subsidizes some costs if you’re part of a program like that, and Viktor’s still trying to get there.  In the meantime, we can help you.” He gave Yuri a look that reminded him very much of Lilia. “Let us.”

 

Yuri said nothing. 

 

“Call Otabek back! I’ll be home soon.”  The door closed on that cheerful note and Yuri was left alone once again. 

 

Yuri stared at the door as it closed with a soft  _ thud _ .  That was Katsuki, alright--ever-demanding but in such a quiet way that you didn’t even know what had hit you until he was gone.  

 

**Yuri**

**Hey**

 

He chose to blatantly ignore every other message his best friend had sent in his worry  For fifteen minutes, he wanted the world to disappear. 

 

**Otabek**

**You ok?**

 

**Yuri**

**No**

 

Yuri could hear his voice crack and he wasn’t even speaking.

 

**Otabek**

**Wanna call?**

 

**Yuri**

**Can we just play a game?**

 

**Otabek**

**Sure.**

 

Biting his lip, Yuri selected one of those silly, pre-loaded games for iMessage. He didn’t care what it was--knock-off Battleship, because he wanted to watch things  _ explode _ the way his life seemed determined to.  Otabek always won this game, but he didn’t really care  If Yuri got frustrated, it would only serve as therapeutic, something to direct his feelings towards at the least. 

 

Luck seemed to change when he hit one of Otabek’s single-space ships first.

 

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips and he tapped a second spot.

 

It was so incredibly rare for them to finish a game in less than two days.  Their infrequent pattern of texting made silly shit like this so difficult, but in this moment Otabek was so focused on him. 

 

**Otabek**

**Winner chooses next game**

 

**Yuri**

**Oh is that how we’re doing it now?**

 

They usually just alternated, but since it was Yuri’s bad day, Otabek had probably decided to let him have something good in his life.  Normally, he’d be upset thinking that someone was going easy on him. In this moment? He appreciated it for what it was, Otabek doing his best to keep him company and to keep him comfortable. 

 

The entire three hours they played, no one brought up Yuri’s score or his knee once. Otabek knew, his best friend was certain, but he didn’t say anything. 

 

“Yuri, you still awake?”  Yuuri had come back some time ago, but had given the teen space. “We need to talk to you.”

 

That was the last thing Yuri himself wanted to do, talk to his coach’s fiancé and probably his coach after the train wreck of yesterday. He’d be happy to stay in the guest room the rest of the day, texting Beka and playing stupid games. 

 

Except, he knew he had to face the music sometime. 

 

Yuri sighed and, pocketing his phone, made his way cautiously into the living room. 

 

They were sat on the couch, looking every bit the parents Mila had teased them about being. 

 

“Lay it out on the table.”  Viktor said, the calmest he’d seen him since yesterday’s program. “Come clean, what happened?”

 

“My knee has been bugging me for like…a year.”  Yuri mumbled.

 

Standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room was more than a little uncomfortable. Both pairs of eyes were on him, expectant and waiting for him to continue. 

 

“Bek—Otabek told me to get it checked, so I did. After camp, I got an X-ray.”  He'd mention neither the amount of skating he’d put into saving up to cover it nor the amount of meals skipped, next to his grandfather’s medication…it was a lot.  “Nothing came back.”

 

“You never once thought it fit to mention it to your coach that you were injured.”

 

“You didn’t ask.”  Yuri argued. 

 

“I shouldn’t have to ask.” Viktor snapped. “If you’re hurt, you should feel safe enough to tell me that you need to withdraw—“

 

“I’m not  _ you _ !”  Yuri had been on edge all fucking day. The games with Otabek had calmed him down, but of course it only took Viktor-fucking-Nikiforov, King of the Ice himself, a minute to fuck it all up.

 

He’d been keeping it together. 

 

“I’m not you!” He repeated. “I can’t just stop and let my parents pay for anything I want. I can’t just fuck off to  _ Japan  _ because some gross fuck danced on me. I don’t have your fucking luxuries. I’m not a million-time World Champion. I hold a record, but it’s  _ nothing  _ in ways of money. No one fucking  _ cares _ .  

 

“You didn’t have to pay for your childhood home. _I_ put away money every goddamn week! You don’t know  _ anything  _ about what I’ve been through in the past two years, so don’t fucking pretend like I can tell you when I hurt.  I hurt all the goddamn time, you—you  _ asshole _ ! You didn’t struggle at all! Your parents paid your way to the top! You didn’t worry about whether or not you could eat that week or housing or have to live with—I had a roommate literally dating someone so she could afford food!”

 

“Yura,”  Viktor’s eyes widened.

 

“No! Shut up! Shut  _ up _ .  Don’t tell me I should have told you. I was handling it just fine!”  Until he wasn’t. “I was icing it and I was careful on it. I never intentionally strained it.”

 

_ Not true. _

 

“Yura.”  Viktor said, eyes serious and voice much firmer now. “Have you been eating?”

 

“W-what?”

 

“Are you the one who’s been taking the protein bars from the locker room?”  Yuri didn’t answer. “Have you been eating?”

 

“I—“   _ No. _  “I was saving for—“

 

“I’m calling Lilia.”  Yuuri stood up, reaching for his phone on the table without even glancing at Viktor. 

 

“What? No! You can’t!”  Yuri panicked, scrambling immediately to get the phone. “Katsudon, I’ll never speak to you again! She’s already giving me a fucking handout letting me live there for half the price—“

 

“You’re moving out.”  Viktor told him, sounding very,  _ very  _ tired. “You’ll live here.”

 

“No!”  Yuri spun around. “You—you guys can’t do this!”

 

“Yuri, if you can’t afford food—“

 

“I didn’t say that!”  His voice was rising and his throat was closing again. This was becoming a regular thing for him, wasn’t it?  “I didn’t—I bought food at Rostelecom!”

 

“This isn’t a handout, Yuri.”  Yuuri soothed, fingers dialing. “You’re right. It’s unfair that some people have a little help along the way.”

 

“So let us help you.”  Viktor agreed. “Move into the guest room.  Considered yourself officially sponsored by whomever, Yuuri, me, Yuuri’s family. I don’t care. You can pay for your own food, if you want.  You aren’t going to continue to live somewhere you cannot afford.”

 

**Yuri**

**I have to go for an MRI tomorrow**

 

**Yuri**

**Viktor is making me move**

 

**Yuri**

**The Nishigori’s are officially sponsoring me**

 

**Yuri**

**It’s Katsudon’s last season apparently**

 

**Yuri**

**They’re already anticipating months of PT**

 

**Yuri**

**The EMT told Viktor it could be my meniscus**

 

**Yuri**

**Surgery could take me out for a year**

 

The conversation with his coach/new roommates had been totally one-sided from that point on. Katsuki was the one who ended it, making sure Yuri had space when he started…

 

He’d started crying. 

 

Yuri still wasn’t over the nauseated feeling, but at least he wasn’t shaking anymore. 

 

Once glance at Otabek’s instagram told him all he needed to know. His best friend was out with his girlfriend.  She had definitely posted the picture, if the caption was anything to go by (“you should lock your phone, Beka!” with a million emojis).  Yuri gagged and felt several times more frustrated by this development. 

 

**Yuri**

**I don’t know what to do**

 

**Yuri**

**Text me back when you can**

 

**Yuri**

**It’s important.**

 

He fell asleep convincing himself that he wasn’t crying and didn’t bother waking up for dinner. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Yuri—“  Alina stopped him before he could follow his coach out the door to his former apartment. She looked…nervous, like she did every time they spoke. Her eyes kept flickering downwards and a flush danced across her face. “I—um—just wanted to say—“

 

“Listen,”  He didn’t want Viktor listening in from where he was standing only a few yards away. Yuri was banned by his doctors from carrying anything until the results from the MRI returned and they knew what was wrong exactly. “You’re really great and I’m glad we could be…friends.”

 

The word felt weird on his tongue. 

 

“I definitely like hanging out with you,”  _ And I’m going to have so much fucking free time now, so please I’m desperate.  _ “But I don’t think—“

 

She let out a sigh of relief and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

 

“It’s ok. I don’t want to date anymore either.”  She offered a shy smile. “I really like you, but yeah…friends is..we can be friends. For real, not the fake kind that you just say to make someone feel better.”

 

_ People did that? _

 

“Um, some of us are getting together this weekend. The showcase is over and tear down is Sunday so we’re going out Saturday night, if you want to come?”  She smiled, more brightly now. 

 

“Uh.”  Yuri glanced sideways at Viktor who only raised an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah. Actually…yeah. That’s…that’s good. Um… I have to go stick my leg in a machine for two hours again because they want to run a second round of MRI in a different position in case the first missed something so…I’m gonna go.”

 

“Good luck.”

 

She pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek. 

 

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”  Viktor commented lightly as they made their way back to the car with the last of Yuri’s boxes. He really didn’t have much, anyways, so they’d just taken Yuuri’s new car (Yuri refused to take the fucking convertible).  

 

“Didn’t ask, old man.” Yuri huffed, a blush brushing across his cheeks.  “We only went out a few times…”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah.”  The elevator dinged and they stepped out of it’s old, white, kind of rickety-looking double doors and through the small lobby-ish thing. Yuri wouldn’t miss it that much, the dorms. He’d probably miss the sense of freedom the most.  

 

Living with Viktor and Katsudon of all people…

 

It would probably be a nightmare. He’d lived with coaches before and it had been hell. They were opinionated and paranoid, also more than a little anal-retentive. Yuri  _ wasn’t  _ in that way, he was normal. His things were strewn about and his bed looked like a tornado slept in it, but he was…particular about things. 

 

And it always was the wrong things compared to what Yakov or Lilia had been particular about. 

 

“She seemed nice. It didn’t work out?”  

 

“No.” Yuri mumbled, sitting in the passenger seat as Viktor now started the car. “She liked me so I…well…she asked me out but then Otabek’s girlfriend was on the phone so I—“

 

“Otabek’s girlfriend was on the phone when that girl upstairs asked you out?” Viktor frowned, voice thick with confusion. “Why?”

 

“No, like I called Beka after and he was—anyways so I told him I was seeing her so we started seeing each other.”

 

“Ah,”  The smile on his coach’s face was shit-eating. 

 

“Ah?”  Yuri echoed. “What?”

 

“Oh, nothing.”

 

“No, don’t ‘nothing’ me! Why are you laughing at me?”  Yuri demanded. 

 

This was something he didn’t like, this was a way to make him tick. He hated when people had an opinion and kept quiet with it. He wanted to know. If he fucked up a combination spin, he wanted to hear it from the person laughing’s mouth. In no way did Yuri Plisetsky take criticism well, but he  _ listened  _ nonetheless. 

 

“You asked a girl out because your best friend’s girlfriend was on the phone?”  Viktor asked, still grinning. “Doesn’t seem…?”

 

“Fuck off.” Yuri snapped. “Not like  _ that _ .”  

 

“There’s nothing wrong with having—“

 

“I’m nothing like  _ you _ .”  Yuri spat, arms crossed. 

 

That shut him up. There was silence for a full three minutes, Yuri knew because he watched the clock. Except, Viktor wasn’t good at staying quiet for long. 

 

“There’s nothing wrong with it.”

 

Blinking back surprise, Viktor was the last person Yuri had ever expected to sound even remotely  _ vulnerable _ .  In all the talks he’d been given by the older skater, he’d never heard him so genuinely soft. It wasn’t the type of soft demeanor he used to get things out of Yuri or to try and calm him down. This was honest and heartfelt, but almost sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. 

 

And that was the only thing that kept Yuri’s snarky response from tumbling out. 

 

“N-no.”  He spluttered instead.  “I…Yeah. Sorry if I like…hit a nerve.”

 

“Sorry if I did, as well.”  Viktor sighed, but didn’t even glance at him during their red light. “There’s more to life than skating, Yuri. I don’t think you’ve realized it yet.”

 

“There’s money.” Yuri mumbled. “And bills and loans and insurance payments.”  

 

“That, too,”  Viktor agreed, pulling into the complex.  “But there’s fun stuff, too.”

 

They parked in silence again, less awkward now but still uncomfortable. 

 

“You’ll find it’s more difficult to come back once you’ve left.”  His voice was thoughtful and he was zoning out a little, staring at the building in front of them. “Everyone says it’s the injury that’s hard to come back from. The injuries, yes. Sometimes they’re career-ending and sometimes they’re hard to recover from and come back to the same tier you were at before… I think the hardest part is finding other reasons to live— _ better _ reasons to live—and finding that you have to leave them behind again or learn to balance them.”

 

“I balance things fine now.”

 

“You don’t know what balance is.”  His coach sighed. “Not yet. You will.”  

 

* * *

 

Balance was apparently  _ not  _ on a balance beam. Yuri’s PT had him standing in turnout, correcting his hips to support his weight better. Official prognosis? 

 

Nothing. 

 

Nothing was broken or torn, yet, just strained severely. His growth spurt had thrown him so far off-center that his muscle hadn’t kept up. His knees, with likely genetically loose ligaments and tendons, were shifting uncontrollably. He was apparently lucky he hadn’t permanently damaged the cartilage any more than what a normal skater his age and level would have (so a lot, but not so much he needed to worry yet).  

 

Yuri found no comfort in any of it.

 

Physical therapy was designed purposefully to reteach him how to carry weight in his knees.  They were fixing posture, hyper-flexibility, and retraining his adductors and abductors to maintain an equal pull on his knee.  He wasn’t allowed to keep up flexibility training while it happened. One look at him and his scary-ass Dr. Oksana had determined he had both of his splits and that he wasn’t allowed to do them anymore until his PT was over. 

 

“Do you feel how you’re falling to the outside?”  She asked him gruffly. 

 

“Yes.”  Yuri gritted his teeth, it didn’t  _ hurt _ . He had muscle there to hold him, even if it hadn’t stretched right while he’d grown, but it was very uncomfortable. Suddenly, it felt like all his muscle memory had been twisted and changed, not unlike his daily experience in the thick of this whole growing thing anyways. 

 

This was just worse. Everything else had been small, quick changes to his posture. This was an entire restart from scratch scenario. 

 

“Now stand straight— _ don’t lock your knees _ !” 

 

He didn’t feel like he was standing straight if he didn’t lock them. 

 

“How do you skate like that?”

 

“I don’t.”  Yuri frowned, looking at her in the mirror instead of at his own legs and adjusted himself so that he was in a position more like how he’d hold himself on the ice. “I do it like this.”

 

“Mother of God, and you still can’t stand right?”  Pinching the bridge of her nose, she shook her head. “Work on it, that’s how you want to be  _ standing  _ not just how you want to be skating.”

 

_ Oh.  _

 

Whoops. He’d been standing differently than he’d skate and skating differently than he’d dance for years. This was all news to him. 

 

“I know Lilia Baranovskaya. She would  _ never _ teach a student this way.”  Oksana grumbled. “It ruins the joints. She would have fixed your posture.”

 

“She wasn’t my first teacher.”  Yuri snapped. 

 

It was true, he had first encountered dance as a child even if he’d never kept up with it. By the time Lilia had come around, he’d been out of practice since the camp he’d met Otabek at years prior. She  _ did  _ constantly try to fix his posture, but he’d attributed it to differences between skating and ballet—not like physical conformation issues. 

 

“Obviously.”  The doctor sniffed.  “Two more sets and then you can be done until your next session.”

 

Yuri sighed in relief.  Something about completing his day at physical therapy in peace was satisfying. He liked being able to focus his itch to skate elsewhere. He’d always been too energetic, that was why his grandfather had put him into skating in the first place. 

 

And it was probably why he’d taken to it so intensely, too.

 

“Oksana?”  Yuri called as he signed out of the facility. The old woman looked up, eyes intimidating as ever. “When can I go back on the ice?”

 

“You’ll be back to dance long before you go back to the ice.”  Her eyes narrowed. “Two months, perhaps, for dance. I don’t want you skating until we know it’ll hold up. You need some meat on your bones still. Do your exercises this time, and it’ll go by faster.”

 

He always did  his exercises, over-did them, in fact. The doctor had told him he could make a full recovery by the end of this season, that would give him the full off-season to prepare. 

 

Deep in thought, Yuri almost walked straight past Yuuri’s car. The older man honked, though, to startle him out of his mind and Yuri hurriedly opened the door and got in. 

 

“How was it?”

 

“Two months.”  Yuri snapped. 

 

“What?”  

 

“Two months before I can  _ dance _ and by then I won’t have any flexibility. I’ll be rigid as a fucking board.”  Yuri seethed. “And then they’ll re-evaluate from there if I can go back to the ice.”

 

“Yuri,”  Yuuri sighed. “These things take time, unfortunately. But, it’s better that way. You’d miss nationals regardless, what is missing World’s?  Work on making next season perfect.”

 

Which was precisely his only option. 

 

“Are you eating dinner at home tonight?”  

 

“What—oh! Yeah, um, we’re going out later.”  Two weeks ago, Yuri hadn’t felt up to going out after Alina’s showcase. Honestly, he’d still felt too wrecked from the news that he’d likely have to take the rest of the season off. Plus, they’d only just gotten the MRI results in and he just didn’t want to deal with it.  

 

“Just you and your friends or some other people, too?”

 

“Uh. Alina and Kira. I don’t know who they’re bringing, but I know they’re bringing some friends from their dance program.”  Yuri shrugged. 

 

“That’ll be fun.”  Yuuri smiled, turning left onto their street. The plus side to living with Viktor and Yuuri was that they lived within walking distance of  _ everything _ .  “It’s good to live a little.”

 

“Did you live a little?”  Yuri raised an eyebrow, suddenly curious. 

 

The older man’s ears turned the slightest shade of pink and it danced down to his cheekbones. 

 

“When you live with someone like Phichit, you learn to…” He parked the car and seemed relieved to be able to exit the vehicle and the conversation. 

 

Yuri gave him a moment to reach the door to the building first and then followed after. A flushed and frantic Katsuki was not a Katsuki to deal with. Yuri walked straight into the home, grabbed his bath things, and headed towards the shower. He needed to soak afterwards if he was going to go out, he felt stiff sometimes on off-days from PT and soaking in epsom seemed to help. 

 

**Yuri**

**Dude what do I wear to go out**

 

**Otabek**

**You’re cute**

 

**Yuri**

**Fuck. Off.**

 

**Yuri**

**Forget I asked. I’ll ask katsudon.**

 

**Otabek**

**shirt? Pants?**

 

**Yuri**

**Useless fuck**

 

His heart was pounding in his ears as he texted his best friend. Otabek knew about what to wear to clubs and shit. He worked at them sometimes, so he was in the know. Yuri didn’t frequent popular hangout spots, let alone clubs. The past three times (and once was when he was fifteen) he had just had some girl help him. Now, it was him on his own or him risking asking Viktor. 

 

He would  _ never _ ask the old man. 

 

**Alina**

**My friend Bohdan is coming with us**

 

**Alina**

**And Kira is bringing some people**

 

**Yuri**

**Cool**

 

“Yuri! Dinner!”

 

Shit.

 

Yuri pulled himself out of the rapidly cooling bathwater and dragged himself to his bedroom to change. It was fucking cold out, but he opted for a tank top with open sides anyways. He’d survive, they’d spend most of the night indoors anyways. 

 

Ripped black jeans just barely fit, he wasn’t sure if he’d just gained weight or what, but he kind of appreciated how fitted they were if only because they showed off the thighs he’d been forced to work on these past few weeks. 

 

“Yura!”

 

“I’m  _ coming _ , fuck!”  Yuri shouted back, pulling himself from in front of the mirror and running down to the kitchen. “I’m here, ok?”

 

Yuuri rolled his eyes, just turning back to the stove to serve another portion of whatever it was he had made. Viktor was already sitting at the island. 

 

“Oi, pervert.”  Yuri snapped at him. “What are you staring for?”

 

“Nothing.”  Viktor chuckled. “Just surprised you’re dressed for such warm weather.  It’s well into the negatives today.” 

 

He was aware. 

 

“I’m going out. With friends.”  Yuri huffed, accepting his plate with a small nod of gratitude to Katsuki. 

 

“You hear that, Yuuri?”  Viktor teased. “Yura’s made  _ friends _ .”

 

“You didn’t have friends until you were twenty-seven years old and now he’s your husband so shut up.”

 

“Hurtful.”  Viktor frowned. 

 

“He’s just being honest.”  Yuuri chuckled, sitting down with his own plate. 

 

“You’re both terrible to me. Why don’t you just move in with each other and leave me out of it?”

 

“Ew.”  Was Yuri’s only comment and Yuuri just laughed. 

 

“What time will you be home?”  Viktor questioned. “Do you want us to stay up?  Should we come pick you up? We can—“

 

“Viktor, he’s used to living on his own.” Yuuri rolled his eyes affectionately. “Leave him be. He has a key and a cellphone.”

 

Yuri had never been so grateful that Yuuri Katsuki not only had common sense, but had actually lived on his own.  Viktor had just gone from moping in Yakov’s house to moping in his own apartment, which really wasn’t “living on one’s own”.  

 

_ No. Definitely not living. Just sad.  _

 

“I just worry, with your knee—“

 

“Jesus, I’m wearing sneakers but I’ll leave if it bothers me.”  Not like Yuri planned on fucking it up more.

 

**Otabek**

**-sent 1 location-**

 

**Yuri**

**Yo**

 

**Yuri**

**You ok?**

 

**Yuri**

**Have you been kidnapped or some shit?**

 

**Yuri**

**Hello?**

 

**Yuri**

**Why do I need to know where you are?**

 

**Yuri**

**Otabek?!**

 

**Otabek**

**Fuck**

 

**Otabek**

**Sorry about that**

 

**Otabek**

**Butt dial?**

 

**Otabek**

**I guess?**

 

**Yuri**

**Cool**

 

**Yuri**

**-sent 1 location-**

 

**Yuri**

**Well. I’m drunk and here.**

 

**Yuri**

**Wherever here is.**

 

**Otabek**

**You ok?**

 

**Yuri**

**Yeah**

 

**Yuri**

**Bohdan is here**

 

**Yuri**

**Alina is somewhere**

 

**Otabek**

**Who?**

 

**Yuri**

**Bohdan**

 

**Yuri**

**Alina’s friend**

 

**Yuri**

**He says hi**

 

**Otabek**

**Hi**

 

“Who is Otabek?”  Bohdan called out to him over the music. 

 

“My best friend.”  Yuri laughed. “The greatest fucking skater in Kazakhstan.”

 

“Do they have many skaters there?”

 

“Don’t even fucking know.”  Yuri snorted, which was true. He  _ didn’t _ know, because Otabek was the only one that mattered so what did he care. “They have a girl that’s def sleeping with some official or something, but that’s it.”

 

“Ah.”  Bohdan nodded towards Yuri’s hand and shook his own glass. “Want another?”

 

“Mmmmm,”  Yuri felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

 

**Otabek**

**Be safe, Yura**

 

Bohdan had already taken his glass and was well on his way through the crowd to the bar by the time Yuri looked up. His eyes took a moment to refocus before he could follow, using bony elbows to his advantage in parting the sea of people. 

 

“Hey there!”  Bohdan fucking  _ giggled. _  Why was he giggling?

 

_ Oh. _

 

Yuri had draped himself over the other boy’s neck and shoulders to see the bar. 

 

“You ok?”

 

Yuri nodded, but didn’t bother removing himself. 

 

“You?”  He asked in return. 

 

“Not after this one, probably.”  Bohdan twisted, managing to unseat Yuri’s arms just enough to turn completely around and hold up two drinks. 

 

“What is it?” Yuri took one, but left one arm still around Bohdan’s shoulders.

 

“Vodka soda,”  Bohdan sipped on his straw. Something about the action put Yuri on edge, but he couldn’t figure out  _ what _ .  “The gayest of the drinks.”

 

“What?”  Yuri choked. The heck makes a drink gay?

 

“You’ve never heard that?”  Bohdan raised an eyebrow, grin bright and straw rested on his lower lip. 

 

“No?  _ Fuck. _ Why?”

 

“I guess it’s popular with those gays.”  The other teen laughed, gesturing between them with his drink. 

 

Yuri hesitated. 

 

“‘M not…” Yuri whispered, but his company only cocked their head to the side in confusion. It was too loud to hear something so low. Yuri started a little louder.  “I’m—“

 

_ Stop. _

 

“Nothing, never mind.”  Yuri brushed it off.

 

“I kind of figured you weren’t out.”  Bohdan smiled sympathetically, except he had it all wrong. That wasn’t his train of thought at all. “What with dating Alina and all.  Sorry if I made you uncomfortable by mentioning it, but hey! If you want a safe space—“

 

“I mean I dated her so wouldn’t that mean I’m not?”  Yuri frowned at him and Bohdan’s eyes widened. 

 

“Are you asking genuinely or are you just trying to be an asshole?”

 

“Uh…”

 

“Oh. God. You mean it seriously.”  Bohdan seemed to let out a sigh of relief and...almost pity?

 

_ Did he? _

 

“I mean, I don’t know, Yuri?”  He continued. “Were you—are you attracted to her?”

 

“She’s pretty!”  Yuri defended himself. 

 

“Yeah, no shit, Alina is drop dead gorgeous.  I’m not  _ blind _ , Yuri.”  His new friend rolled his eyes and laughed. “But are you attracted to her?”

 

“Doesn’t that count?”

 

“Would you have sex with her?  Like do you look at her and say ‘hmmm, I want to put my dick in that?’”  Well, that was one way to phrase it.

 

_ I’m too sober for this. _

 

“—sexuality is weird.”  Bohdan was still talking. “You can be attracted to everything and nothing romantically, and/or everything or nothing sexually. It’s kind of this crazy game of figuring it out.  My ex had a girlfriend before me and is dating someone non-binary now.”

 

“How did you know?”  Yuri’s mind was racing through every thought he’d ever had, his vision was spinning, but he suspected it wasn’t the alcohol. 

 

“I always knew.”  Bohdan shrugged. “My sexual awakening was kind of—I mean, I had the biggest crush on your coach when we would have been around ten or eleven. I think that pretty much spelled it out for me.”

 

Everyone had a fucking crush on Viktor-fucking-Nikiforov except him! What was it about the man?  He wasn’t nearly as appealing as his--

 

_ Oh. _

 

“Oh.”

 

_ Oh no. _

 

“I’m…”

 

_ Shit. _

 

“It’s not like something you have to know about yourself right this minute.”  

 

_ The straw…his lips… _

 

It was like the bookend of a slow realization. He’d never thought about it because he hadn’t  _ cared.  _ His life was just skating and more skating. He didn’t have time to deal with this, any of it. He’d gotten off as stress relief, for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t like he was searching out gay porn or anything but—

 

_ But you knew what you were watching when you watched straight porn _ .

 

Not even just that.  He hadn’t ever connected the dots as to what it meant to be gay, which sounded so stupid even in his own head.  Like, as a foreign concept the term made sense. Viktor was gay. Yuri had known it for a long fucking time. He’d never bothered to ask how his coach walked through life experiencing the world or other people or just sexual attraction in general.  How was he supposed to know he could find someone pretty and not…

 

_ It’s actually pretty obvious if you think about it for more than five seconds. _

 

“I’ve never…”  _ Realized it?   _ “Told anyone…how did you—?”

 

“I didn’t.  I just assumed, I’m sorry. That’s really rude of me to judge.”  He offered, running his fingers through his dark hair. “I just thought you were…you know…just now...”

 

_ I was I just didn’t know it.  Thanks. _

 

“Yeah.”  Yuri blew out a soft breath and wrinkled his nose as his own hair tickled his face. “I...was…”

 

“So…you gonna kiss me then or should I grab us another round?”  The way he cocked his head to the side and smiled as he brushed the offending strands from Yuri’s face made sense in a whole new light now. 

 

Because now he knew why he was watching so intently and feeling so…intensely.

 

Besides the alcohol.

 

There still weren’t fireworks, but Yuri had long suspected that old people were lying about them when they told fairy tales. Still…it felt…more right?

 

He couldn’t promise it wasn’t the lack of lipstick tricking him into a false sense of security.  If Bohdan disappeared and came back wearing Urban Decay’s latest matte shade, he might feel differently. In the moment though, he was high on self-discovery and tipsy on liquid courage. 

 

And he’d say that was just fine with him. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Izilen is going to kill me after I had her up all night dealing with last minute banner revisions but uh here we are because I really like chapter 4 and I can't stand not sharing it.  
> It's ok. I'm justifying it because I'm digging my own grave. My epilogue isn't entirely complete (I won't even lie) because perfectionism and I'm just sending myself hurtling closer.   
> It's fine. This is my favourite chapter. It's justified.   
> ANYWAYS.  
> Here you all go. I'm so sorry to leave you here.   
> Lmao throwback to when I realized I wasn't straiiiiiiight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Otabek**

**I’m coming to visit**

 

**Yuri**

**Dude, you have World’s**

 

**Otabek**

**All the more reason to borrow your coach**

 

**Yuri**

**Ok. Well. Fuck you too**

 

**Otabek**

**Do you think they’d mind if I stayed with you guys?**

 

Yuri pondered this for a moment. Otabek had never visited before at all, they just never really had time to visit each other and it wasn’t like Yuri had the money anyways. They’d never really stayed together except sometimes at competitions, if one of them had the room to themselves they’d chill. 

 

“What’s up?”  Bohdan had started hanging around more.  Yuri wasn’t sure if he was just a bad dancer and so he had no other commitments or what. It was kind of annoying, but at the same time…

 

They broke apart from their kiss, Bohdan holding out a mug of tea for him to take.  Yuri accepted it and the other sat down on the couch beside him. 

 

“Beka wants to visit.”  Yuri explained. “He’s training with Viktor I guess, prepping for World’s—speaking of!”

 

It was half-past three. 

 

“You need to head home soon…” 

 

Bohdan sighed.

 

“You know I’d never judge you for not wanting to come out,”  He began quietly. “But you realize that you live with two of the most  _ out  _ people there are?”

 

_ I’m scared they’ll make a fuss.  _

 

“I know.”  The blond leaned in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “And I’m sorry, Bodya, I just…”

 

There was a split second of silence. Bohdan looked like he wanted to say something, but he stayed quiet, his lips parted with a soft, slightly disappointed-sounding exhale before their lips met again. 

 

It was like that.

 

Maybe on Bohdan’s end there was some emotion, but Yuri doubted it. It seemed just…fun, a way to kill time.  Currently, Yuri had plenty of time to be killing. Bohdan came over and they’d watch movies or do Yuri’s stupid exercises and eat food that Yuri felt neither of them should be eating (especially because he really wasn’t working out these days).  

 

“Oh Christ!”  The sound of his coach’s panicked hiss made Yuri jump about six feet in the air and spill boiling hot tea down Bohdan’s chest, who in turn jumped up and just barely managed to save his own mug from spilling on himself as well. 

 

“You’re home early!”  Yuri accused, eyes wide as saucers before he realized Bohdan was absolutely drenched and probably boiling alive. “Oh! Shit! Uh!”

 

He yanked the other teen by his wrist towards his own bedroom. There had to be a clean shirt  _ somewhere _ that he could take. In the meantime, he tossed Bohdan a clean towel to dry with. 

 

“I am so, so sorry!”

 

“Yuri,  _ Yuri! _ ”  A hand came to stop his frantic searching. “It’s fine, ok?  I’m fine. It wasn’t that hot, it’s just water.”

 

“I—“

 

“Are you ok?”  Hazel eyes fixed him with such an intense stare… “I know you didn’t want them to know.”

 

They knew and boy was Viktor probably freaking out. It was like all his little comments had come to fruition. He was going to so rub it in Yuri’s face. Just the idea made him a little ill.

 

“It’s fine.  I’ll see you tomorrow?”  Yuri handed him a shirt to change into that Bohdan didn’t accept. 

 

“Gives me an excuse to go shopping.”  He grinned. “I’ll be back after my classes tomorrow.”

 

Yuri knew he had to be a good human being and walk him to the door, but fuck he didn’t want to. Viktor and Katsuki were making it so obvious that they were staring, even when Yuri received a little peck on the lips for his bravery. 

 

The door closed. 

 

“You nearly ruined my couch!”  Viktor groaned. “You can make out wherever you want, but can you please not spill tea on it—“

 

“Vitya!”  Yuuri gasped. “You could have more concern for the kid that was just  _ burned _ .”

 

“He’s fine.”  Yuri assured with an eye roll. “He’s using it as an excuse to go shopping.”

 

Viktor paused a moment. 

 

“I like him. Keep him.”  His voice had the faintest hint of desperation. “Is it weird to go out shopping with a kid half your age?  Can I do it anyways? Neither of you ever go with me.”

 

“Can you guys just…keep it a secret?”  Yuri stopped the rambling in its tracks and Viktor looked a little taken aback. 

 

“Your boyfriend?”

 

“No—yes, but…that I’m…you know.”  Both Viktor and Yuuri frowned. “Listen, Beka is coming and asked to stay here and I guess we’ll share a bed but I don’t want him to be grossed out or anything—“

 

The gazes softened considerably. 

 

“I’ll keep it a secret, but Yuri do you really want to keep something like that from your best friend?”  Katsudon and his motherfucking pity train. 

 

_ No. _

 

“I’ll tell him eventually.”  Yuri whined. “Just please!”

 

“We won’t Yuri.”  Viktor sighed. “Just…don’t worry yourself sick over that. The world is much more open to it now than when even I was your age.”

 

As much as Yuri loved making fun of him, they weren’t  _ that  _ far apart in the grand scheme of gay rights history. It was actually kind of…sad. 

 

“And  _ grandpa _ .”  Yuri blanched. 

 

_ Oh god. _

 

His grandfather had been traveling now, Viktor had offered to put him up closer to St. Petersburg, but the old man insisted he liked the trains. He’d come up a few weekends here and there to spend time with Yuri since Rostelecom, since now Yuri had the time to spend. 

 

None of it had really hit him.  He’d kept it a secret for a week, almost two—since right before Nationals. He hadn’t thought about what would happen if he told people or if they found out on their own. 

 

It wasn’t a good feeling. 

 

“He loves you.”  Yuuri promised. “More than the world, else he wouldn’t come all the way up here to visit.  That said, while I think you should tell him, it is entirely your choice. You don't have to tell anyone anything you don't want to."

 

"I had to tell you guys."  Yuri mumbled and Viktor beamed.

 

"If you weren't having sex on  _ our  _ couch, that wouldn't have been an issue!"  

 

“I wasn’t!” Yuri screeched, face red with embarrassment. “Oh my god! Why are you like this?”

 

“You know, if you wanted to have sex in the comfort of your own bedroom, you’re an adult and I can’t stop you.”  Viktor continued, childishly egging the actual child on. “That shop on the corner doesn’t ask questions if you run in for supplies—“

 

“Viktor, please, before he explodes.  We were having a serious conversation.”  Yuuri sighed, face in hands. 

 

“I was lightening the mood,”   Viktor turned to Yuri with a more serious tone. “No one wants to talk about coming out. It’s scary, it’s intimidating.  You think everyone will look at you differently, and some people will. Those people don’t matter, though.”

 

“Your parents didn’t come to your wedding.”  Yuri chewed his lip and Viktor gave him a sad smile. 

 

“No. They did not.”

 

“But you still think it was worth it?”  He pushed. 

 

Yuuri smiled up at Viktor as his husband wrapped an arm around him and smiled. 

 

“Every day.”

 

_ Ok.  I can do this. _

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t do this.  

 

Otabek was standing dead center in his room.  In hindsight, he should have cleaned up. It was a mess, to say the least. His own clothes were strewn about on the floor. For someone who had nothing but free time, homework, and PT, he really had no excuse. 

 

“So I can just put my suitcase in any patch of free floor?”  There was a hint of amusement in his best friend’s eyes and Yuri let out a sigh of relief. 

 

“I mean, to be fair, if it’s on the floor, I probably don’t need it—except that!”  He grabbed for the ankle weight that Otabek picked up with a raised eyebrow. “I need that for my PT. I’m supposed to move onto a resistance band next week.”

 

It was moving well. A month more and he’d be dancing again. He wasn’t sure if he was looking forward to that development or not, but nonetheless, it would be good news. It was one step closer to the ice. 

 

“It looks good, Yura.”  He said seriously. 

 

“Yeah, well.  I have to go ice it now.”  Yuri grumbled. 

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t wear shorts if you’re planning on icing your knee.”  Otabek laughed, but the house was  _ hot _ .  Katsuki kept the heat blasting, despite insisting that Russian winters weren’t that terrible. 

 

“I’m wearing long socks!”  He huffed back. He was. His grandfather had bought him thick, woolen socks to cover his knees because he insisted the extra layer of warmth would keep him from getting stiff. So he had them on, still a little amazed that they made wool socks in what was essentially thigh-high for a male with decent enough height. 

 

“Basketball shorts and woolen thigh-highs, a look somehow worse than basketball shorts and Adidas or Nike socks with sandals.”  Otabek sighed, flashing him a grin. “Just wear pants, dipshit.”

 

“I can’t roll pants down if I get too hot!”  Yuri whined. “Don’t make fun of me! I have my methods, you have yours. I’m going to get my ice pack.”

 

He left Otabek to get settled while he made a trip into the kitchen. Viktor was in there, pouring a glass of wine—Yuri was learning quickly by living here that the secret to all professional athletes was alcohol and zero hours of sleep.  The old man looked up when he approached. 

 

“Want a glass?”

 

“No. Do you really need that?”  Yuri’s nose wrinkled.

 

“Yuuri is cooking tonight. This will tide me over.”

 

“Vitya, off the counter!”  Yuuri snapped, coming back into the room from god knows where. Presumably, he was about to start cooking or was about to resume, judging by the ingredients half chopped and sorted into pyrex bowls on the counter. 

 

Next to Viktor’s ass.

 

“Sorry!”  Viktor flashed his husband a playful smile, before looking at Yuri. “Otabek settling in?”

 

“He’s unpacking and then taking a shower.”  Yuri answered simply, moving towards the freezer. That was the reason he was in this mess anyways, he needed ice. 

 

“You’re doing a good job hiding  _ it  _ from him.”  The old man commented. Yuri felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and not from the cold that washed over him when he opened the door to the freezer.  Katsuki must have given Viktor a look, because he hurriedly continued. “It’s a joke, Yuuri, the boy looks like he doesn’t know how to dress himself!”

 

“Vitya!”  Yuuri hissed. 

 

“Oh my god, everyone is riding my ass today!”  Yuri spun around. “I’m hot, ok? I don’t even want the socks, except that they’re kinda tight and the pressure feels nice on my fucking swollen knee.  _ Also _ —“

 

He held up the ice packs. 

 

“I need to ice it.”

 

Viktor still looked amused, but said nothing else on the matter so Yuri stormed back to the room he was now sharing with Otabek for the next… Not  _ quite  _ a week. His best friend had to get back to Kazakhstan. 

 

_ Oh. Ok. This is fine. _

 

Yuri was being so uptight about keeping his newly recognized sexuality a secret, he’d worried himself over nothing. Otabek was shirtless in front of him and nothing had changed. Viktor had teased him for stressing about it, and it seemed he was right about something for once. Locker rooms seemed to have dulled his sense of privacy. 

 

Good. 

 

So that eliminated that fear. 

 

“Headed to the shower?” Yuri asked. 

 

“Figured I should get in a shower and a quick nap before dinner.”  Traveling backwards in time wasn’t that difficult, not with only a three hour difference, but he’d be staying up late tonight. Yuri had  _ plans _ because he wanted to introduce him to all his new friends. 

 

“You can dress casually. We aren’t doing anything crazy, just a few places we went last weekend.  I thought you’d really like this one place—“

 

“Yura, you’re rambling.”  Otabek reminded, laughing. 

 

“Right! Ok. Go shower. I cleaned the whole ass bed so it’s safe.”

 

Otabek left the room, grabbing a towel that Yuri had left folded for him at the end of the bed. Not even three second after he left, Katsuki entered.  He seemed to take in the chaotic vibe of the room, eyes widening as he realized the extent of the mess.

 

“Please tell me you washed the sheets.”  He eyed the bed suspiciously. 

 

“Yes, seriously.  I did them this morning.” Yuri whined. 

 

“Before or after your friend left?”  Viktor appeared, leaning against the doorframe with a smug smile. 

 

“Viktor, he’s an adult.”  Yuuri reminded.

 

“You’re chastising me for my room being messy!”  Yuri shooed them away. 

 

They returned to the kitchen, a pair of happy, chattering old people. The both of them took too much pleasure in his living here.  Times like this, he seriously missed the dorms. 

 

Living with a married couple was…uncomfortable. He’d lived with Yakov and Lilia before Lilia decided he needed his own space. Financially, this was a better fit for him than the dorms. He knew it wasn’t unheard of for skaters to be living with coaches and coaching staff or even just random families that volunteered to host them.  That fact alone made it a little easier, but still.

 

Nothing made up for the fact he still had to live with Viktor Nikiforov. 

 

He was looking at Instagram aimlessly when Otabek came back.  He was already clothed, must have changed in the bathroom after his shower. Yuri glanced up at him and then back down at his phone. 

 

“Gonna nap?”

 

“Probably.” Otabek shrugged. “What’s on your mind?  You’re worrying about something.”

 

Yuri look up, eyes narrowed. 

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

Otabek cocked his head to the side, gesturing to Yuri’s fingers. He was a nail biter anyways, but yeah…Otabek was right. This was excessive. 

 

“Ok. Fair.”  He sighed. “Yeah.  Um…”

 

“You don’t have to tell me?”

 

“No.  I do.”  Yuri sighed. “I just…I’m…I should preface this with telling you that I’ll sleep on the couch if you want. I don’t really care, it’s probably weird for you. I just…I think I like guys and I don’t know why it took me so long to realize it but…yeah.”

 

His best friend hadn’t run screaming or anything so Yuri risked looking up through his hair at him. 

 

“So you’re…?”

 

“Gay.”  

 

“Ok.”

 

“Ok?!”  The blond huffed, standing up now. “That’s all you have to say about it?”

 

“Yuri!”  Otabek looked amused.  “I really don’t give a fuck and you shouldn’t offer the couch, your knee needs to heal. You should keep the bed. If you’re that uncomfortable sharing—“

 

“I’m not, you dumbass! I thought you would feel…”. He glanced down at the floor again. 

 

“It’s fine, ok?”  Otabek chuckled. “I’m really glad you told me, that’s all.”

 

“Oh…ok.”

 

* * *

 

Yuri didn’t remember much of that weekend or of the weekend following. Otabek got on the plane hungover as shit.  Yuri had introduced him to Bohdan as just a friend, he wasn’t ready to admit they’d been up to while Otabek was there, but now he was in the loop. He’d been in the loop for a few weeks, actually. 

 

Yuri had taken up dance again, slowly. He was only allowed at the studio twice a week, an hour each. So really it was just a different type of PT. Katsuki was officially retired, Worlds had come and gone. He accompanied him to the dance studio a lot, offering help here and there when Yuri practiced at home. It was kind of like pre-injury but better. Viktor wasn’t there to rile him up constantly, too busy being back and forth with meetings and trying to figure out logistics of taking more students on. 

 

He picked up his phone to dial, coming back to curl up on his bed after icing his knee again. Tomorrow would be his first day back on the ice, nothing hard, but he wanted to make sure he was ready. If he went into tomorrow in bad shape, he could only imagine how he’d come out of it.

 

“It stops hurting after you stop being a little bitch.” He said as soon as the line was picked up, not even bothering to wait for Otabek to say hello. There was news from yesterday to be shared. He’d been picked up by Katsuki this morning for dance class from Bohdan’s home—part of the dorms. 

 

“What?” Otabek seemed caught between laughter and genuine concern. 

 

“Sex. It hurts.” Yuri shrugged, knowing full well he couldn’t see it. Phone calls were shitty like that. 

 

“You probably shouldn’t do it if it hurts.” He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world and Yuri supposed it was.  

 

“Well yeah, but it was fine after.” He snapped. “I was just too tense. It was fine once I relaxed.”

 

His best friend made a sound that Yuri recognized as his “I suppose you’re right” sound. 

 

“I guess when it’s your first time, everyone is kind of tense.” He said finally. 

 

“It’s not like I’ve ever had anything shoved up there before—“ Yuri continued. 

 

“What?” This time, as quiet as his voice was, Yuri could tell Otabek was concerned. It was laced in his tone. 

 

“We just established this!” Yuri clicked his tongue. “It was my first time, ok? Don’t fucking make fun of me—“

 

“No, that’s not it.” Otabek promised. “I’m just confused. You’ve never like...?”

 

“You can say it, you fuck.” Yuri spat, thoroughly embarrassed. “No. I’ve never fingered myself or any of that bullshit. Am I supposed to?” 

 

“I mean...how did you know you’d like it?” He sounded hesitant. “Like what led to the decision to—“

 

“He suggested we try it so we did.” Yuri huffed. “It’s not a big deal.”

 

“I’m not saying it’s a big deal.”  Otabek was ever gentle. One day, Yuri was going to actually snap at him for real.  He was so good at just…calming him down. It was irritating sometimes. Sometimes Yuri just wanted to be frustrated. 

 

“So why are you making such a huge deal out of it?” 

 

“Well you brought it up and I’m just curious!” His friend was back to laughing again, so he couldn’t stay frustrated  _ now _ .  

 

“Well  _ fine _ . So I’ve never done much of anything. I’ve definitely never had? Done...anal.” Yuri sighed, deciding that he’d just cave and give his friend the information he was so obviously looking for. “And so when he brought it up a few weeks ago I didn’t really care this way or that. I just tried it because whatever.  I’d just never had anything like that done to me before so when he shoved it up there—“

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“I’m giving you the details you asked for, shut up—“  Yuri rolled his eyes, laughing now himself. 

 

“No, Yura, wait.  It’s a real question.”  

 

That made him stop.

 

Otabek was clearly taking everything Yuri said seriously.  Really, that was fine. It was nice to have someone who cared so much about his life to bother to listen in details to these little things.  He just couldn’t imagine why he was taking it  _ this  _ seriously.

 

“What’s your question?” Yuri asked, a little hesitant now. 

 

“He didn’t like…finger you at all? Or prep you?”  

 

“Yeah, I mean we used a ton of lube—“ He relaxed.  That wasn’t nearly as bad of a question as he had expected. Part of him had thought Otabek was going to ask something way too personal. Although, Yuri wasn’t really sure what would constitute that given their current topic of conversation. “You’re quiet.”

 

He added it after a few too many seconds of silence. Otabek could be quiet, but this was…he’d just asked a question and Yuri had replied. He kind of expected his best friend to reply at some point.

 

“You’re not hurt?”  The voice on the other end of the call was very concerned now. 

 

Yuri groaned into the pillow he was laying on before he bothered replying. 

 

“I mean it hurt like a bitch at first.” Now they were just talking themselves in circles.  “We used like half the bottle of lube probably and he kind of, well you know how it works I don’t have to explain  _ that _ to you. Except then it hurt, I was just too nervous. He took it out and then we tried again after I had a moment to adjust to the feeling and breathe—“

 

“God, Yura,”  Otabek sounded like he was in shock. “You seriously could’ve…you didn’t research anything before did you?”

 

“It’s a dick and a hole, fuckwad.” The blush was rising into his cheeks and the worst part was that he knew it. Thankfully, Yuri reminded himself, this wasn’t FaceTime or Skype or anything else where Otabek could see it. “It’s not that difficult to figure out so no.  I didn’t ‘research.’”

 

There was a split second of silence and then laughter.

 

“Stop laughing at me!” Yuri snapped.  “What the fuck is so funny?”

 

“Honestly? Nothing.”  Otabek chuckled. “I shouldn’t be laughing. You could’ve hurt yourself. One of you should have at least tried to finger you, get you used to it.  Normally you—uh— _ prepare _ a little—“

 

The flush danced across the tips of his ears now.

 

“Alright, asshole.”  Yuri grumbled. “Not all of us are experts at anal.”

 

He’d look into that later.  Obviously he’d fucked up somewhere along the lines and Otabek seemed just as concerned as he was amused by it. That wouldn’t happen again, he’d figure it out. Well, if he bothered to ever do it again he’d figure it out.

 

It just… It wasn’t unappealing in the moment.  Yuri wasn’t sure what he felt about it. Maybe it was just something to do.  It had definitely turned him on after he got over the soreness. He’d gotten off after it all, so obviously something was there. It just wasn’t as much fun as blowjobs, maybe because of the cleanup or the effort. 

 

Or maybe because Yuri liked being able to sit comfortably. 

 

“What the fuck do you know about it, anyways?”  Yuri accused suddenly, after his moment of rumination. 

 

“About what?” Otabek sounded like his mind had been wandering as well. “Anal?”

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“I mean, I’ve actually done it.  By the sounds of it, better than you.”  His tone was teasing, but the statement made Yuri frown. 

 

“Why have you…oh, well I guess girls do that shit, too, so it makes sense—“

 

“Yuri,”  He was cut off mid-confusion by an Otabek that sounded more confused than he was.  “Yuri, I’m pansexual.”

 

He really didn’t mean to.  Yuri just acted entirely on impulse and hung up. He’d  _ panicked  _ in a way that he shouldn’t have. Heart racing, he ignored the call as it buzzed in.  

 

Otabek was calling back.  The poor, genuine soul probably assumed the call had dropped accidentally. Maybe he thought Yuri’s phone had died.  That happened sometimes. It wouldn’t be unusual, just super convenient. 

 

Slowly, though his heart was still pounding in his chest, Yuri found his panic and shock turning into  _ anger _ .  Why the fuck hadn’t he known that? He had poured his whole heart out into his coming out, as bad as it had been. He’d stressed for ages and he’d maybe just blurted it out, but it meant a lot. Otabek was the first person he’d told when he was concerned about his sexuality. 

 

He couldn’t be fucking bothered to return the gesture?

 

“Hey, I think we got disconnected—“ That was the first thing Yuri heard when he picked up the phone again.

 

“You’re an asshole,”  Yuri spat, “And I hope you know that.  Do you know how long it fucking took me to come out to you?  It was so fucking embarrassing to have to—to admit that I—I was questioning myself for maybe months and you—“

 

He couldn’t even put it into words. Betrayal, maybe, would be a good one. It was like Otabek didn’t trust him, which should be bullshit by now. They’d shared a bed even after he’d come out. They still laid across each other on the couch when they were being assholes trying to take up the most space they possibly could.  He hadn’t been disgusted by him or laughed at him. Nothing had changed at all. Everything had stayed the same, except Yuri was gay now. 

 

Well…technically that hadn’t changed, but Otabek’s knowledge of it had.

 

“I thought you knew.” Otabek sighed. He sounded tired, maybe a little guilty. 

 

The idea of him feeling guilty soothed Yuri a tad. He  _ should  _ feel that way. Fuck him. His best friend had kept him in the dark for fuck knows how long and he was just supposed to accept that?  No. He deserved an apology or something. This was some absolute bullshit. 

 

“I thought, it’s not like I keep it a secret.”  It had been a secret to him. “It’s…Yuri, I was seeing someone not long after we—uh—re-met.  He was always on my snapchat…”

 

“What the fuck? It’s not like you told me ‘hey, this is my boyfriend.’”

 

“Yuri…”

 

He tried to think back to almost five years prior. They’d been snap chatting very frequently then, Otabek mostly sent stuff of the night life or of his skating…sometimes him working out. Yuri couldn’t think of any one photo in particular where he’d ever thought “oh they look close” about his best friend and anyone—girl, guy, you name it.  

 

“Yuri, you asked me ‘who is that? Boyfriend or something?’ And I said—“

 

“'Or something,’” Now he remembered. “Well, fuck, how was I supposed to know ‘or something’ meant you were fucking?”

 

“We were shirtless in bed.” Otabek was amused again, much to Yuri’s own frustration. 

 

“We do that all the fucking time!”

 

“That’s fair, I guess ‘bros’ do that, too.”  Something inside of him didn’t like that statement at all. Maybe it was just the use of “bro”. Yuri spoke English just fucking fine, but he hated when he was speaking Russian and Otabek (or even sometimes Yuuri) would throw in random American slang like it fit. It didn’t. It felt wrong.

 

Yeah. 

 

That was it. 

 

Otabek’s yawn shook him out of all semblance of frustration and confusion. 

 

“Go to sleep, asshat.”  

 

“You ok with this?” Even his voice sounded tired now. 

 

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m just pissed you didn’t fucking say it or whatever.  Just go to bed, you have an early morning.” Yuri dismissed, physically relaxing into the bed underneath him. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

 

“Cool.” Otabek replied. “Til then.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

As soon as the call hung up, Yuri felt even more like he wanted to break something. He settled for leaving his room for the sole purpose of video games before bed.  Yuuri was actually…not that great, but he had good consoles and some pretty good games so Yuri would venture out of his cave for them. 

 

Neither of his coaches were in the living room when he entered, thankfully.

 

_ It shouldn’t bother me this much. He’s allowed to be…he’s allowed to be pan. He can like whoever he wants. _

 

Something about that didn’t feel right. 

 

He’d been elated when, not long after his visit to Russia, Beka and his girlfriend had broken up. She was annoying, always answering the phone when he called or being the reason Beka didn’t answer. There were too many occasions when Yuri would call only for Otabek to send him to voicemail because what’s-her-face was there. 

 

“You’re up late.”  Katsuki yawned, passing him on his way to the kitchen with an empty glass. 

 

Yuri shrugged. 

 

“Something on your mind?”

 

“Otabek is pan.”  He mumbled, embarrassed at how stupid a reason to be upset that was. 

 

“Oh,”  The older Yuuri nodded. He didn’t make any moves towards the couch or even really to enter the living room.  He gave the blond his space. “And you’re upset he didn’t tell you before?”

 

_ Yes. _

 

His silence must have been enough. 

 

“What happened?”

 

Yuri paused the game and turned around. 

 

“You can’t tell Viktor,”  A shrug met his statement. “I…I had sex and I told Beka because…I mean he’s had sex before and he tells me weird shit about his life all the time so I wanted to tell him.”

 

“Ok.”  Yuuri nodded, entirely un-phased. 

 

“And like, that’s not weird, right? Best friends talk about stuff like that?”  Yuri asked. 

 

“Yeah,”  Katsuki agreed with a small smile.  His eyes held too much understanding, though, and Yuri felt fucking read. “Phichit and I would tell each other everything, it’s not that weird.  He was actually one of the first people I came out to, so it was easy to talk to him about most things, so I get that.”

 

“But then he told me he was pan.”  Yuri groaned. “And I just felt like—“

 

“Like he betrayed you by not mentioning it sooner?”  He laughed. “God, I can’t say I miss being your age. It’s kind of terrible having to figure it all out, isn’t it?”

 

Yuri gritted his teeth in response. Yes. It was terrible, and it didn’t help to be  _ laughed at _ .

 

“To some people, sexuality really isn’t a big deal.”  Yuuri shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t think to mention it because he doesn’t really have an opinion on it? Or maybe he thought you knew.”

 

_ He did think you knew.  _

 

Yuri had to just keep telling himself that, then. 

 

“Yuri, I’m going to ask you something kind of embarrassing and—ok, two somethings—and I’m really sorry I’m pulling the adult card here, but you’re being safe, right?”

 

Yuri could physically feel the blush reach his face. God, how could Katsuki be any more of a loser?  Seriously. Of course they were being safe. He didn’t need to know details.  _ He  _ wasn’t Yuri’s best friend. 

 

“Second question.”  He squeaked out. 

 

“Do you like Otabek?”

 

“He’s my best friend—“

 

“Ok,”  The older man nodded and continued to the kitchen. 

 

What kind of question was that?  Of course Yuri liked Otabek. They were friends, Beka was his first friend  _ ever _ .  He wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for him. That sounded melodramatic, but it was true. Otabek was the reason he’d even started to actually care about his knee. He was the reason he even considered asking Viktor to coach him (even if Viktor wound up asking first).  

 

Otabek was the one who encouraged him to meet people, make friends, go on dates. He always texted back, even if it took ages to respond. He played games when Yuri was sad and stressed and didn’t want to talk about it because who the fuck always wants to talk about feelings, right?

 

Beka challenged him, never went easy on him. He asked the hard questions with no fear.  He didn’t pressure Yuri to spend time with him, understood their busy schedules often conflicted. When he’d started making friends and going out with them, his best friend hadn’t taken poorly to it. In fact, Otabek had really driven him to do even  _ more _ with them. When Yuri had been honest about Bohdan, Beka had smiled over the delayed Skype feed and been genuinely supportive of Yuri’s first step into self realization and exploration. He’d just told the asshole about his first time for fuck’s sake, and he hadn’t freaked out. 

 

“What did you mean?”  Yuri asked, when Katsuki returned with his glass of water and a mug of what was probably chamomile. Yuri knew Yuuri often made Viktor tea before bed. “Do I like Beka?”

 

“You already answered.”  Katsuki frowned. 

 

“Did you mean do I like him like…”. Yuri paused. “I…”

 

“Yuri,”  The older man’s lips quirked in a small smile. “You don’t have to answer or even really think about it right now. You already gave me an answer, trust yourself.”

 

_ Why am I doubting myself? _

 

“Just because you’re—“

 

“—Gay doesn’t mean I can’t have guy friends.”  Yuri rolled his eyes. “Stop, you and Viktor won’t fucking shut up about that. I know. Beka just…you confused me, asshole.”

 

“I just asked because of something you said when he was here.”  Yuuri finally admitted after a long moment of silence seemed to stretch on for eternity. 

 

Yuri frowned. 

 

“I am the last person who should be telling you what you did when you were drunk,”  This was true because Yuuri Katsuki was a notoriously terrible drinker who couldn’t keep his pants on (even just in a non-sexual way) after a glass too many. “But you came back one night and Viktor and I had fallen asleep on the couch.”

 

“I don’t want the story.”  Yuri snapped, anxiety flaring in his chest. 

 

_ What did I do? _

 

“You looked like you’d been crying.”  Yuuri said quietly. “And said something about Otabek…”

 

“He was with me?”  Yuri demanded. 

 

“When wasn’t he?”

 

_ True. _

 

“What did I say?”

 

“Yuri, I was half asleep, I only woke up because the door slammed behind you. I guess he was too busy catching you to grab it on the way out.”  Yuuri sighed, “I don’t know, honestly. Something about him ‘always being like this’ or something. I thought maybe something happened…”

 

“Like?”

 

“Like maybe you told him you liked him and that maybe you’d done it before?”  Katsuki shrugged. “I was worried that maybe you were just trying to make him jealous today by mentioning it or that maybe you were just hung up on someone who didn’t deserve your time.  I just wanted to make sure.”

 

Yuri was shocked. It wasn’t even by the idea of what he could have possibly said to Otabek, but he didn’t know Katsuki cared that much about him. Honestly?  He didn’t know  _ anyone  _ cared that much about him. Grandpa didn’t count. 

 

Still didn’t explain the words out of his mouth next.

 

“I realized I was gay because Bohdan said he had a childhood crush on Viktor and I thought it was dumb that everyone had crushes on him because you’re better.”

 

He slapped a hand over his own mouth. 

 

Katsuki stared at him for a moment before he burst into a quiet fit of laughter. 

 

“Don’t laugh, asshole!”  Yuri snapped, but he was blushing even darker than before. 

 

“I’m sorry, really.”  Yuuri promised, still grinning. “Ok. We both have to go to bed. That’s enough serious talk for one night.  Goodnight.”

 

**Yuri**

**I’m an idiot**

 

**Otabek**

**You’re supposed to be asleep**

 

**Yuri**

**I was after I sent the message. Good morning.**

 

**Otabek**

**Good morning**

 

**Otabek**

**What did you do?**

 

**Yuri**

**I told Katsudon how I realized I was gay**

 

**Otabek**

**That you were drunk in a club comparing his ass to Viktor’s?**

 

**Yuri**

**FUCK OFF THAT’S NOT HOW IT HAPPENED**

 

* * *

 

 

“That’s not a pretty look on you.” Viktor frowned, holding out a hand to help him up off his ass. 

 

Yuri was practically growling. So much time off the ice, it all still felt like second nature. He knew the steps, the feeling, he just couldn’t reach it. 

 

“Yeah?” He snapped in response. “Well, winning isn’t pretty.”

 

“No,” Viktor’s lips did that stupid think where they quirked up at the edge in a fucking all-knowing smile. Yuri’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose you’re right. It’s not.”

 

There was something cool in the way his coach spoke that make Yuri shiver more than he ice he’d landed on. It was always like Viktor knew something he didn’t. 

 

And it made him actually angry when his coach was like that. Of course, it was his job to know things. He had to be a coach, but something about this type of secretive and cryptic shit he pulled made him anxious. It was like he was missing something terribly important. 

 

It was with that in mind, that Yuri came to a realization. 

 

He and Viktor just didn’t work. 

 

Which...that sounded like they were in a relationship.

 

But seriously. They didn’t mesh well. Viktor was the legacy of Russian skating that Yuri was actively chasing. He was driving himself mad and running himself ragged trying to keep up. It put his stomach in knots, it had him forgetting to eat again.

 

He couldn’t survive like this. 

 

**Otabek**

**You’re going to find a new coach?**

 

**Otabek**

**I can’t say I’m that surprised**

 

**Otabek**

**He seems more like a brother to you than a coach**

 

**Yuri**

**Fuck off he’s not a brother**

 

**Yuri**

**But he was a teammate first**

 

And Viktor helped him when he was younger, sure, but the man wasn’t in charge of his training. 

 

**Yuri**

**And a competitor.**

 

**Yuri**

**I feel like I’m competing with him.**

 

**Otabek**

**Yeah**

 

**Otabek**

**Probably unhealthy**

 

The person he wanted to see was on the phone out by the locker rooms, speaking in hushed Japanese that sounded a little frustrated. When they made eye contact, Yuuri switched to English politely, saying his goodbyes with a promise to call again. 

 

“Family?” Yuri asked. 

 

“Minako,” Katsuki replied with a small smile. “She’s still upset with my decision to leave skating, but—“

 

“It was your choice!” Yuri frowned, cutting him off. “Why is she being such a bitch?”

 

There was a moment of shocked silence and then laughter. 

 

“I’m still young, Yuri. I just turned twenty seven in the middle of last season and I have no injuries to speak of, in terms of something bad enough to keep me off the ice.” He shrugged with a sigh. “She understands it, she was a ballerina, but she doesn’t like it. I just...I want to take the next step now, rather than after something serious happens. And I achieved my Olympic goal.”

 

Right. Last year.  With a mother fucking gold and a team bronze. 

 

“I want you to be my coach.” Yuri blurted. “I—I’ll pay you.”

 

_ Of course you’ll pay him, half-wit. You pay his fucking husband.  _

 

_ Even if they do house you. _

 

Yuuri looked at him, shocked for a split second before recovering a calm look on his face. He must have learned it from Viktor. 

 

“I won’t lie to my husband. You’d have to tell him.”

 

“I—is that a yes?” Yuri blinked in surprise. 

 

“Do you actually want to change coaches?”

 

“Yes. He...he’s a really good coach these days.” Yuri chewed his lip. “But I just feel too competitive with him. I can’t stop pushing and I don’t want to get hurt again.”

 

Yuuri looked at him thoughtfully for a moment and nodded. 

 

“Then yes,”  He said finally.  “But you do have to tell him.”

 

Only one week back on the ice. Yuri Plisetsky had already changed coaches. 

 

* * *

 

Telling Viktor he wanted to change coaches went over surprisingly well.  Did Viktor cry? Not in front of him, but Yuri suspected he cried a little bit. That was fine.  It wasn’t his fault, anyways. Yuri just couldn’t keep up with it. Viktor was his biggest rival, emotionally, even though he wasn’t on the ice anymore. With his comeback, people would be expecting him to stack up again. This was around the time in his life where The Living Legend became what he was. 

 

“Beka?”  Yuri asked quietly. They were supposed to be watching a movie, but it kept freezing. 

 

This time, it didn’t freeze. Otabek paused it and looked at him with concern in his features. 

 

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”  He admitted.

 

_ It feels so good to say it _ .

 

“Do what?”  

 

“Skate.”  He chewed his lip. 

 

“You’ve been off the ice a while and you’ve only just started building muscle you didn’t have before. Your growing changed a lot, Yura, that’s all—“

 

“No, not that,”   _ But thanks for reminding me _ .  “I—We get to do this all the time, movies and Skype and shit, because we didn’t have conflicting schedules. I was always off when you were. I could answer my texts during PT. We got to talk so much more. And then I made  _ friends  _ and I feel like I won’t get to see them again if my life becomes sleep-eat-skate like it was. I just…”

 

_ This is what Viktor was talking about. _

 

“Beka, what if I don’t want to give it up?”  He asked, voice small. 

 

Otabek stared at him, mouth set in a firm line. 

 

“Then you don’t, Yura.  You learn to balance it or you quit. That’s all.”  He paused a moment. “And I won’t shame you for quitting. You had a hard recovery.”

 

Yuri thought of all the nights he’d called his best friend just to get his mind off of everything happening.  His mind wandered back to the games they’d play over text or the bullshit videos they’d send on snapchat just to laugh because Yuri felt like he couldn’t anymore. 

 

The ice was his everything, or it had been. Some days, when he was just walking, he felt wrong. His muscles felt like they should be skating, his body craved the ice and the sensations of it. Dancing made up for some of it, but not the bulk of it, not the part he needed. 

 

“I can’t.”  He whispered. “I can’t live a life without skating. I can’t give it up.”

 

Otabek didn’t say anything.

 

“But I can’t give you up again either.”

 

_ And I think I like you, but I don’t know anymore. I have so many feelings right now. I hate it. _

 

“Have you talked to Viktor?”  Otabek asked carefully, like he was choosing his words deliberately. 

 

“He thinks he knows everything, so no. I don’t want to.”

 

“He knows some things.”  Beka’s face had the faintest hint of a smile. “I’m coming to Russia.”

 

Yuri blinked, too shocked for words. He was coming again?  Sure it was the off season, technically, but that was meant for family and fun and he’d only just been here not that long ago?

 

“Viktor had offered to coach me when I was there, but I hadn’t decided yet. I needed to finish out my contract and all that, and that was before you changed coaches of course.”  

 

_ But now he actually needs a student, at least one.  _

 

“Oh my god.”  Yuri said, then again a little louder.  “Oh my fucking god. You _ ASSHOLES!” _

 

“I think Otabek told him.”  He could hear Yuuri’s laughter from the other room. 

 

His best friend in the history of the world was  _ moving to motherfucking Russia.  _ Yuri was going to scream, how long had everyone known?  They were keeping the best news of his life from him. 

 

* * *

 

 

_ “I want to dance to this.”  Yuri held a headphone out for his new coach to take. “For the video.” _

 

_ “Video?”  Katsuki cocked his head to the side.  _

 

_ “Yeah.  Like how Viktor said I should be more…evident on social media with my intentions to come back.”  _

 

_ It had been a long few months of PT and he’d only just started dance again, but his physical therapist had assured him a million times over that light work was ok so long as he was paying attention to his knee and bracing/taping/icing as necessary. He intended to take the suggestion to heart and had been making progress. He’d worked up to three classes a week now and was feeling like he was slowly regaining his former ability.  _

 

_ Not that he was ever really a dancer, he’d only really been dancing for three years before the injury, anything before that was just basic off-ice training, not intense ballet.   _

 

_ “Ok.”  Katsuki had already taken a earbud during his silence and was contemplating the music. “I mean, it’s not great, but it’s usable I guess. I’ll talk to a friend.” _

 

He hadn’t known that friend was low-key famous in Russia or that she’d ask to film the whole session. Apparently she and Yuuri had spent two weeks after Yuri’s initial interest choreographing a routine for him that was equal parts intense.  

 

Yuri was quickly regretting his acceptance of her film request, because he was failing. Miserably. 

 

“I thought you said he was a dancer?” Elena chuckled, not even fucking breathless as she tightened her ponytail after she ran through it half speed with him. 

 

Yuri bristled a little, even though he really had no right to. He  _ wasn’t  _ a dancer. That really was the problem. Katsuki, on the other hand, was fucking living life. He looked like he hadn’t just announced retirement only a few months before. Apparently the fuck had taken hip hop in university so fuck him.  He could move in ways Yuri didn’t even understand. 

 

“Try taking that one part again, but slower.”  Yuuri suggested, chuckling with her as he made eye contact with Yuri in the mirror. 

 

Never mind the fact he had no idea what “that one part” was.  Yuri was a beat off because of his momentary confusion. 

 

_ Oh, he means the hard part. _

 

“Bum, bum, bum,”  Yuuri quirked an eyebrow at him through the mirror again as the younger man flailed. 

 

“Bum, bum, bum? What is the bum, bum, bum?”  He snapped. “There’s—you’re doing more than just ‘bum, bum, bum,’ there’s like seven steps there!”

 

“You just have to really focus on those muscles that you’re using in those—“

 

“I didn’t even know I had muscles there!”

 

Several tries later and Elena was actually laughing. 

 

“Let’s take it again from the top!”

 

Impressively, he could keep up this time, even if he was still a little off on the “bum, bum, bums” (only because he literally had no idea what beat Yuuri was counting there).  

 

He zoned out during a quick water break while Yuuri and Elena discussed video ideas. As far as Yuri was aware, there were people showing up shortly to learn the choreography—real dancers who could pick up new work in the blink of an eye—and Otabek and Viktor would film along with Elena’s own tripod. She wanted a stereotypical choreography video, Yuuri was ok with it so long as Yuri was visible. 

 

The sad part was that Yuri definitely wouldn’t be the best dancer in the group, but it didn’t matter. 

 

Alina, he knew, was coming. As was another dancer she was friends with and a handful of Elena’s own students. To Yuri’s knowledge, Alina had never taken a hip hop class in her life but he wouldn’t be surprised now, after seeing Katsudon absolutely kill it on the floor again, if she had. 

 

Only an hour after he arrived and Yuri was correct in not underestimating her. Alina picked up the choreography nearly as fast as Elena’s own dancers, making Yuri feel somehow a million times worse. He was kind of hoping one person here would stumble like he was, but he shouldn’t have doubted a literal professional. 

 

_ Everyone  _ in the room had been dancing since they were able to walk and he was just…him. He was subpar and average. Any dancer’s training was what had been required of him, not intense enough to prepare him for something like this. He didn’t take classes for  _ fun  _ he’d taken them to work. Even now, planning his comeback, he’d chosen to take ballet for the presumed balance and grace associated with it that he needed to translate onto the ice. 

 

He didn’t have this sort of…finesse. 

 

His coach even, older though he was, was on point. Not literally en pointe, like on point as in he had this perfect flawless movement. Even Elena broke a few times to tell her students to look more like Yuuri. He had this crazy ability that Yuri couldn’t understand. 

 

He, himself, was stiff and very uncomfortable. The ache in his knee wasn’t there and he was being very conscious of how he held himself and balanced his weight, but for some reason he still felt off. 

 

“Yuri, relax.” His coach reminded him as the door opened again. “You’ve got this. You’re getting too tense and in your head trying to keep up and that’s why you’re lagging. Just let it happen, ok?”

 

_ Right. Right, it was just in his head. He had this. This was his comeback, his idea.   _

 

“Yuuriiiiiiiiiii,”  Viktor sing-songed, looking like he and his new student had just come from the rink. “Where do you want your camera people?”

 

“Vitya!”  Yuuri said firmly, catching his hand before Viktor accidentally bumped the camera already on a tripod. “One center, by the tripod, and one can move around for some wide angles, just please don’t block the other cameras!”  

 

He smiled sheepishly and nodded, pecking his husband’s forehead and then going to relay the information onto Otabek who was talking to Yuri about the choreography. It was…a lot more stimulating in Yuri’s head than ballet was. Especially when Katsuki did it, the movements looked less unnatural and weird and more sensible, in the same flow as the lyrics. 

 

One water break’s time to set up cameras and they started again. Viktor and Otabek filmed about fifteen minutes more of warmup, they’d come late and missed the first warmup but Otabek wanted footage of the whole group “learning” the choreography. He really didn’t miss much, if Yuri said so himself, because it took some of these people two times through to learn it nearly perfectly. 

 

Crazies. 

 

“Yuri, can you lighten up your expression, please?”  Viktor chirped. “You want to look like determination embodied, not like you’re determined to slay someone. It’s not the good kind of slaying, either, it’s the ‘third degree, prison for life, no parole’ type of murder.”

 

Yuri heard Otabek snort. 

 

“Take it again!” Elena said, much more serious now that her dancers were there. 

 

“Oh! I forgot to record!”  Viktor looked down at his phone in moderate surprise just as Elena was ready to start the music again. “Otabek, fix the camera.”

 

“Viktor!” Yuuri groaned. 

 

“I couldn’t help it! That little freestyle you added at the end—“

 

“Oh my god, can we just  _ not  _ right now?”

 

At the end of three more hours (this was actually Viktor’s fault with forgetting to record/cutting off recordings early more so than the number of separate groups and length of time to learn the choreography) they were cleaning up. Yuuri spoke to Elena enthusiastically about potential future projects and collaborations. 

 

The final video was released two days later, after Otabek retreated into his own, new apartment for nearly six hours to mess around with Premiere. 

 

* * *

 

 

_ [Video: freeze frame on Yuri smiling despite himself in the middle of that one part he couldn’t get right, Yuuri Katsuki beside him, also looking momentarily bemused.] _

 

**Yplisetsky16** new #coach, new #choreographer, new #moves @katsuki.yuri @tantsyalina #notadancer #backtowork #2019 #2020 #backwiththemadness #champion #fob #djaltinremix #fraulesdancestudio

 

\- 107 comments -

 

**jjstyle** good to have you back

**mymymila** DAMN KATSUKI #katsudonontheedge

**yplisetsky16** @mymymila fuck you it’s my comeback not his

**mymymila** @yplisetsky16 my bad #comebackkid

_________

 

“Bekaaaaaaaaaa,”  Yuri sang from the couch, looking at Instagram on his phone. People were super excited, more so than he’d anticipated. He was really fucking happy about it, too. The more support he had, the better he felt about coming back. “Are we sharing ice tomorrow?”

 

“Yes.”  Came the reply from the kitchen where his best friend was busy doing dishes. 

 

“Can I spend the night then?”  He was too lazy to leave and spend thirty minutes getting home to where he lived with the old couple. 

 

Otabek emerged from the other room, hands busy drying a dish. Yuri watched the movement travel up his arm and swallowed. 

 

_ You don’t like him.  _

 

“Is that what you were planning this whole time?”  He eyed the backpack Yuri had brought, sitting in the corner of the room. 

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“I only have the one bed.”

 

“That’s fine.”  Yuri stretched backwards, looking up just in time to see Otabek staring at his stomach as his shirt rode up. “I still haven’t gone through my closet since puberty.”

 

He self-consciously tugged the shirt back down. 

 

“Yeah?”  Otabek grinned, seeming otherwise completely normal. “Is that why you’re still wearing cheetah print?”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

He left to return to the kitchen, probably to put the dish down. Yuri preferred air drying, it was more sanitary, but whatever. This was fine, too, he supposed. It was Otabek’s apartment so he could wash dishes however he wanted. If Yuri lived here, it’d probably never get done. 

 

_ Otabek was watching Alina with a raised eyebrow as she worked out a choreography that one of the other dancers was teaching her. Yuri only knew that because his best friend had been staring and he wanted to know at what, so he was staring now, too.  _

 

_ “Yuri, come try!”  Alina called, down on the floor in a highly suggestive position. “You know you want to.” _

 

_ He didn’t. Humping a floor for the sake of art didn’t seem at all appealing to him.  _

 

_ He glanced at Beka again, who was still staring, and decided to say fuck it.  _

 

“Will Bohdya mind that we’re sharing a bed?”  Otabek joked. 

 

“Oh. We’re just friends again.”  Yuri said, surprised he hadn’t mentioned it.  “We weren’t really dating ever, just…anyways. We’re over it.”

 

“So the answer to my question is no.”  He said plainly, laughing. 

 

_ This is weird, right? _

 

“Yeah…”. Yuri agreed. 

 

_ He shouldn’t be allowed to wear sleeveless shirts.  _

 

_ Fuck you Katsudon, why did you put this in my head? _

 

“Actually, Yura, I had a question.”  

 

“If it’s about sex, don’t ask me. I apparently am not the expert.”  He replied flatly, turning from his phone again to look at Otabek. 

 

His best friend sat down on his fucking feet without asking.  In all fairness, Yuri was stretched out across the whole ass couch, but still. He could have asked him to move.  

 

“What is your music?”

 

“Katsuki hates both my program music choices.”  Yuri sighed. “So I don’t even know. We’re still working with his music person.”

 

He hadn’t let Otabek hear them yet, but he really didn’t want anyone to know about them before he was sure the arrangements sounded good. 

 

_ “Yuri,” Yuuri had a serious expression on his face. “I think you should consider a different short. You maybe want to make it contrast just a little.” _

 

_ “I’m telling a story.” Yuri’s voice was flat.  _

 

_ “And I understand that, but I don’t think you should do two songs by the same artist for your short and free. I think maybe a medley for the free, tell both stories there, and something different—“ _

 

_ “Listen, Katsudon,” Yuri the Angsty snapped. “You’re my coach and we both know I would have quit already if I’d kept your husband on. I might not even make it this season. My knee could give out. I could just fail again. Maybe I’ll quit at the end. I won’t know, not yet.” _

 

_ Yuuri watched him with a lol of surprise, but they’d talked about all this before. _

 

_ “I want to do this. If nothing else, it’s a way to go out with a bang.” _

 

_ There was a moment of silence.  _

 

_ “Fine.” Yuuri agreed. “Just remember you’ll have to work harder. Judges are meant to be honest and only score the program on the ice in front of them, but you know they don’t. They score a competitor, they score a competition, and they score a whole season. No one comes onto the ice and is ever actually just judged objectively. This music choice is going to make it...not harder necessarily. It will make it..odd at the least.” _

 

_ “Thanks, Katsudon.” Yuri chose to ignore the rest of the warning. It was shit he already knew.  _

 

“I choreographed my free…I just have to see if it fits with the new arrangement.”  He admitted finally. “I think I’m going to title it…I’m not sure.”

 

“Oh?”  Otabek sounded genuinely surprised. “You’ve never done that.”

 

“I…well I’m not Viktor or Katsudon, I don’t usually choose weird enough music or stories to have to…just…this one is important.  This season is important.” This was the season that determined if his knee could hold up. This was the season where he had the most to lose and the most time to think about his own life. 

 

Yuri wondered what part of his mind told him that Beka being so close meant he wanted to kiss him. Maybe puberty hadn’t ended.  Maybe he was a late bloomer, still had pimples to suffer through, and another six centimeters to grow. 

 

_ Could you imagine? _

 

“You’ll show me when you have the music?”

 

“And something put together.”  Yuri agreed, smile a little uncomfortable. He’d never wanted to put so much distance between himself and Beka before. Maybe he was weird?  Maybe he had a foot fetish and his been being sat on was turning him on?

 

_ No, you fuck, you would definitely know if that were the case. _

 

Maybe, most likely, it was just knowing someone cared enough to listen. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've considered maybe one day posting the little cuts that don't make it into the story, this chapter especially is probably the choppiest one with the most taken out linearly. We'll see I suppose!
> 
> This chapter, despite the cuts, is a favourite. I kind of still hate how I wrote it, but it includes some of my favourite themes. The idea of the ice being part of his identity was something I toyed with a lot. It’s a real phenomenon, a sort of muscle memory working it’s way into your understanding of self. I think it’s really interesting, there’s a few people that write on it but Lacan kind of helped the trend along when he talked about different stages of self-identification amongst other things. I’m nerding out. Anyways. It’s one of those interesting little things I felt the need to include and maybe because it was a little more personal than anything else. 
> 
> I love the comments and the kudos, thank you all so much! I finally have a mental posting schedule for the next (final) two chapters, if the holidays don't mess it up for me or Izilen. I'm hoping every week, but if the holiday cheer prevents us from getting stuff finalized and prettied up for you all, then expect every other week. 
> 
> Your comments and kudos make me smile, so feel free to share more! Even if you don't want to leave works, I accept emojis, hearts, weird number patterns, etc. Surprise me. :p
> 
> (Also, for anyone who missed it, some of Izilen's art is included in Chapter 2 I just added it late. Please go back and gaze upon it!)


	6. Chapter 6

“Take a break, Yuri,”  Katsuki called to him from the side.

 

When he called a break, Yuri listened. Unlike Viktor, Yuuri was actually really aware of when his skater needed a rest. He was especially careful with Yuri, aware that the young man actively sought to hide problems when he had them. 

 

Yuri slowly emerged from his little spot of ice where he’d been having a tiny jump practice. They’d gotten so much better, whether it was the end of his fucking incessant growing or the fact he’d built some real muscle in the past half year in his legs helping him, he wasn’t sure. 

 

But he was thankful for it. 

 

“Hey,”  Otabek nodded at him. “Almost done?”

 

His best friend, Yuri knew, had only just started. 

 

“Yeah, I think this is going to be my last break.”  

 

Katsuki was talking to his husband several meters away and it would have held Yuri’s attention (because he looked a little frustrated with the “silver”-haired man) except Otabek’s shirt was damp with sweat and his hair was sticking to his face in places. 

 

“Did you run here?” Yuri frowned, pushing a strand of wet hair from his friend’s face. 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“You should dry off before you freeze.”  He warned seriously. 

 

“I pushed a little faster because I wanted to see your short program put together.”  He admitted with a small smile. 

 

“Oh…”  Right. Run through time, they’d just gotten the costume off its final fitting. Fuck.  That was probably why Viktor was holding a garment bag and why Yuuri looked so serious. He wondered if something went horribly awry. 

 

_ That costume is going to be so embarrassing.  _

 

To be fair, when he decided to give input to the design, he hadn’t been thinking he’d be taken literally. Katsuki had criticized his music choices and his choice in story because it was too through-and-through. He didn’t like the fact there was no contrast, nothing interesting to show the judges. The free skate music had to have a whole section put in just to make for a more interesting step sequence. 

 

He thought they contrasted. One was about aspiring to be something and his own inspiration. One was about the depressing truth of being at the top. 

 

Yuuri’s opinion of both of them?

 

_ “You still look like a robot. You need some emotion.  You wouldn’t depend on your technical so much if you knew what artistry even was.”  Pause. “Are you going to take it again or stand there?” _

 

Let it be known, Yuuri Katsuki was crueler than any Russian coach he had ever had. 

 

But then again, they’d all groomed him into a winning machine, a literal robot. Katsuki won because he could do all of it, full package.  

 

“Yuri, change.”  Katsuki handed him the garment bag. “It still looks too big, if it doesn’t fit just take it off.”

 

“Yes, coach.”  He agreed.

 

Otabek was saying something to Viktor, but he met him in the locker room. Really, the costume wasn’t hard to get into. It was pants and a shirt, he’d kept it simple and traditional. 

 

Black pants. 

 

Grey, slim and very fitted top with a collar and a deep v because something had to be flashy. It wasn’t sheer anywhere, thankfully. The original design had a mesh panel right under his nipples and he wasn’t a fan. 

 

Nothing crazy but, the left arm had crystal work criss-crossing up it to look like a costume Viktor had in Juniors. That was the embarrassing part. It all met at the shoulder, coming across to end at the very point of the v-neck. 

 

“Looks good.”

 

“I wanted traditional.”  Yuri agreed quietly, looking himself over in the mirror. 

 

Otabek was looking at the sleeve.

 

“Who didn’t want to be Viktor growing up?”  He tried to joke, but he was so fucking embarrassed. 

 

“I like the gold stitching.” Otabek commented. “Down the pants seam and then the embroidery in the collar?  No one will see it though.”

 

“I know.”  He wrapped a hand gently around his own neck. “It’s for me.  Uh—“

 

“Yuuri wore something like that a few seasons ago, right?”  He raised an eyebrow. “Except you could actually see it.”

 

“Well! His was actual crystal, ok? I didn’t want so much pizzazz. I wanted like…normal.”

 

“That’s unlike you.”  Beka chuckled at him. 

 

“It’s about me.”  

 

“I know,”  His hands ran up the left sleeve gently, making Yuri shiver and shove him away. “You didn’t exactly make it a secret. You’ve been dancing around our kitchen singing the lyrics. Doesn’t take a genius to use Google.”

 

_ Our kitchen. _

 

Yuri still lived with Katsuki and Viktor, but he did spend an awful lot of time at Otabek’s. He stayed over more often than not, too. It didn’t make it  _ theirs _ though. 

 

Yet, something in his heart fluttered. 

 

“Both of your programs are.”

 

“Yes.”  Yuri agreed, cheeks flushed. 

 

“That’s why Yuuri doesn’t like them.”  

 

“No,”  He corrected. “He doesn’t like them because they don’t show enough of me to be artistic. He wants me to make it more obvious that I’m talented in more ways than one, kind of like how Viktor is all about surprising people?  Katsuki is the same way, but we can’t really surprise people when they already know what quads I have. I haven’t learned anything new, I’ve only relearned what I know. So next step is to surprise them with how much I can do elsewhere, or whatever.”

 

“Should have done Carmen.”  Otabek joked. 

 

“Don’t even, I’m not trying to sabotage my own career.”  He snorted. “Anyways. Yeah. I don’t know. He’s against all of it but it’s fine. We had to either make a medley out of the free or really finagle it. His friend arranged it with whole chunks of original composition to fill space and up my step sequences.”

 

It actually sounded…surprisingly good. It sounded better, in fact, even if they did take out the lyrics because Katsuki was a lyrics Nazi sometimes. 

 

“Edvin Marton composed my free.”  Otabek said, he’d only kept his a secret because Yuri had been secretive about his own. “He’s a genius, seriously, it was so cool to work with him.”

 

Marton was one of Viktor’s good friends, so it didn’t surprise Yuri in the slightest. He’d never used anything by him, but Viktor had always pushed. Trust the music nerd in Otabek to want to meet him. 

 

They were headed back to the ice, Yuri carrying his skates in his hand. 

 

“What’s your short?”

 

“Romeo and Juliet.” The problem with Otabek was that he could say anything with a straight face. 

 

“I fucking hate you, please be joking.”

 

“Nope.”  But his best friend cracked a smile. “It’s not, no worries. It’s a Bach selection.”

 

Yuri’s nose wrinkled. Beka, for how good he was with music, had terrible picks. He always did dumb shit.

 

Though, Katsuki would probably appreciate it, if he were honest. 

 

“Yuri, ice!”

 

“Yes coach!”

 

* * *

 

  
  


_ Yuri woke up in the middle of the night with something warm and solid in his arms. He didn’t even have to open his eyes to process the fact he’d turned to cuddle Otabek in the middle of the night.  _

 

_ Sitting bolt upright, his eyes finally opened to the sleeping form beside him.  _

 

_ Fuck, hopefully Otabek was still asleep. He looked like he was asleep. Maybe he hadn’t noticed.  _

 

_ Yuri turned over, putting himself at the very edge of his side of the bed and clutched his pillow. Shit.  What if he was awake? What if he thought Yuri was weird for just reaching out to him in his sleep. They’d shared the bed before and they’d never touched like that, not to Yuri’s knowledge at least.  _

 

“Yuri?”  Katsuki frowned at him.  “I thought you’d be doing something fun on your day off.”

 

Laying dramatically across Katsudon and Viktor’s couch was fun. At least, it was safer than addressing Otabek after the third night of accidental cuddles. He wasn’t actually avoiding his best friend so much as they had plans later and Yuri had left at like five in the morning, unable to sleep for fear of Otabek waking up while Yuri’s body betrayed him and turned him into some sort of cuddling-beast. 

 

“This is fun.”  Yuri mumbled. 

 

“Ok, what’s wrong.”

 

Yuri groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in one of the throw pillows that Viktor had gotten custom made in the shape of a fucking poodle head. 

 

“I think I like Otabek.”  He knew Katsuki wouldn’t hear him, he was muffled entirely by pillows.

 

“What?” Came the response. “Hey!”

 

Yuri threw the pillow at him. 

 

“I like Otabek.”

 

“Oh…are you sure?”

 

Was he sure?

 

No. Absolutely not. There was no way to be certain exactly what he felt for his best friend. There were days when he just wanted everything to be the same. They’d play video games or talk. Sometimes, this was Yuri’s favourite, they’d just both exist. 

 

Yuri was not-so-secretly not a people person. People stressed him out just as much as they exhausted him. That said, he also absolutely hated being alone. His favourite part about Otabek was that they could be on Skype, Facetime, a phone call, and now physically in the same room without really speaking. They’d just be there.  Together. Doing their own fucking thing and not bothering each other unless someone read something funny or saw something the other would like. 

 

It was perfect. 

 

Those days, he wondered if what he felt was anything more than appreciation for his best friend’s understanding that sometimes he didn’t want to be alone but also didn’t want to really be bothered or forced into interaction. 

 

That said, he sometimes felt the same about his interactions with Katsuki and he didn’t have the occasional daydream about just leaning in while they sat next to each other and kissing him. 

 

“I’m glad you don’t think about kissing me.”  Katsuki rolled his eyes.

 

“Yeah but…that’s just it. I shouldn’t think about kissing him, right?”

 

“I don’t know. Honestly, wanting to kiss someone can just be hormones.”

 

“You don’t understand.”  Yuri mumbled, blush rising. “I keep subconsciously cuddling him in my sleep. I wake up every few minutes because I realize it.”

 

That did it. There was a split-second moment of silence and then he was being laughed at. Yuuri wouldn’t stop either, once he was giggling too hard he was beyond help. Covering his mouth politely to hide his grin (Yuri already knew it was there) he apologized.  

 

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry, I just—“  Another giggle. “You came back really early this morning looking like a walk of shame—“

 

“—A what?!—“

 

“Is  _ that  _ why?  Because you’re cuddling him?”  More laughter met his ears. 

 

“Shut up!”  Yuri fumed. “It’s not funny! It’s embarrassing!” 

 

“Yuri, sleep cuddling isn’t necessarily a sign you like someone though, right?”  Fucker was still grinning. “Sometimes it just happens. You cuddle stuffed animals, you cuddle pillows, you cuddle pets, and sometimes it’s just cold. This is Russia.”

 

“Thank you.  I’m a citizen, not you.”

 

“I’m just saying.”  Yuuri finished. “If you think you might not like him, then maybe you don’t.  Maybe it’s just your body saying it’s cold or maybe you just want a hug.”

 

“I like him ok? I know I like him?” 

 

_ Oh. God. Did… _

 

“Ok.”  Katsuki’s smile was softer. “Then, Yuri, you’ve got to tell him.”

 

_ Fuck _ .

 

“I can’t.”

 

“He’s your best friend, right?”  Yuri nodded. “Then he’ll understand. If he doesn’t like you back, I’m sure he will be kind about it.”

 

“I don’t want his pity.”  He spat. 

 

“No.”  Yuuri said thoughtfully. 

 

And then, the moment Yuri never thought he’d ever see. Katsudon made a fucking joke. 

 

“I suppose you just want his dick.”

 

“KATSUDON!”

 

* * *

 

 

It was all much more nerve-wracking than Yuri would have thought. He’d finally admitted his feelings, albeit not to Otabek, and now he felt obligated to do something. He couldn’t go on like this, psychoanalyzing and doubting his own feelings. 

 

That’s what led to his other breakdown this month. 

 

_ “I can’t do it.  I can’t go back.”  Yuri covered his face. He refused to admit he was on the verge of tears in the locker room just because practice had run literally five minutes over. There was no reason to get upset over it. Practices ran late all the time. It was why scheduling anything was difficult, but it was Alina’s birthday. He’d promised he’d go out with them and it was already three and he still had homework to do for an online class because fucking Yuuri Katsuki had convinced him to start taking college courses like a normal person. He also had to shower and he hadn’t had time to buy a gift because of other practices running over.  _

 

_ He just wanted to go home and sleep.  _

 

_ Except he couldn’t do that.  Then he’d miss out on everything. This is the first time people were getting together in a while, most of his friends had been in a show recently that Yuri had needed to skip due to a rescheduled PT appointment. Then there was the fact that he had ice time at seven in the morning and he’d have to be up at six to get there. He was either sacrificing friends or sleep and he knew it was going to be sleep and then he’d be cranky—- _

 

_ “Yuri, what’s wrong?” _

 

_ “I can’t do it. I’m missing things again. I can’t figure out how to schedule anything. This is consuming my life.” _

 

_ “Yuri—Yura, look at me.”  Otabek tilted his chin up and it was then that Yuri realized he was pulling out his hair. “It’s not consuming anything. You can quit if you want to.” _

 

_ “I need it.  I need to skate. I can’t give it up again, not like that.”  Not cold turkey.  _

 

_ “Then you make it work.”  He told him. Otabek was like that, someone that Yuri knew could knock sense into him. “Also, you should have just ordered her a gift online.  You knew there was no way you’d come home, shower, and venture back out into the cold.” _

 

He had wanted to lean in there, when their lips were just centimeters apart. Otabek’s fingers under his chin just made it felt like it had been deliberate. 

 

It happened again at the bar later that same night, sitting next to each other talking one moment and the next Yuri had tipsily held his best friend’s intense gaze for way too long.

 

Intense wasn’t the word. Otabek was also tipsy, or at least Yuri told himself that because it made him feel better. 

 

“Beka, I need to tell you something important.”  Yuri said, looking up from his laptop to where his best friend was sitting across the room. 

 

Otabek looked up.  His hair wasn’t styled today so it just sort of fell all over the place. If Yuri was being honest, he kind of liked it better because it looked like his bedhead and…

 

_ Fuck. I’m in so deep over my head right now.  _

 

“Is it important enough for you to tell me now or is that all you wanted me to know?”  Otabek chuckled, but there was more curiosity in his expression than amusement. 

 

_ Deep breath.  Don’t make this so dramatic.  _

 

“I like you.”

 

“I know.”  He shrugged. “Anything else?”

 

Yuri’s mouth hung open and he spluttered. There was no way Otabek knew…unless he’d woken up during the subconscious cuddle sessions. Then that was it. Yuri was doomed to his fate as a handsy sleeper. 

 

“You can’t know! I didn’t tell you!”  Yuri snapped, recovering his wits. 

 

“You kissed me.”

 

“There’s no way you ever had any—wait I did what?”  He cut himself off, absolutely confused. “When the fuck?  I’ve never kissed you, shit head. I’ve only kissed like two people...one dude.”

 

_ Bohdan.  _

 

“Three people. Two ‘dudes.’”  Otabek held up two fingers. “Your…Alina, whats-his-face?  And me.”

 

He pointed to each finger as he counted them off, still holding eye contact.

 

“Oh yeah?”  It came out so childish and teasing, but Yuri couldn’t help it.  “When?”

 

“Before you started dance again. When I visited. Before World’s.”  The corner of his lips turned up in a smile. “I thought you just didn’t want to talk about it.”

 

_ “I am the last person who should be telling you what you did when you were drunk,”  This was true because Yuuri Katsuki was a notoriously terrible drinker who couldn’t keep his pants on after a glass too many. “But you came back one night and Viktor and I had fallen asleep on the couch.” _

 

Yuri froze.

 

_ Oh no. _

 

“I kissed you.”  His hands flew over his mouth. “Oh my god I’m so sorry. Shit. I don’t even remember.”

 

“I mean I should have guessed.”  Otabek laughed. “I just thought you hadn’t wanted to talk about it because…well I mean you cried about it right after. Actually, you kind of cried on me while you kissed me. I was worried.”

 

“Fuck.”  He buried his face in his hands entirely.   “Damn it all. Fuck me in the asshole what did I even say?”

 

“Uh, that I ‘always did this.’  You insisted I ‘kiss everyone’ and ‘it doesn’t mean anything’ to me so ‘why should it matter’ and then something about liking me…I think you called me an asshole but that’s not so unusual. Actually, if you hadn’t I probably would have realized how drunk you were—“

 

“Stop. Oh my god. I don’t want to hear anything else.”

 

Otabek’s laughter grew louder. 

 

“Yuri, it doesn’t matter.”  He promised. “Not unless you want it to.”

 

“I want it to, you fuck, else I wouldn’t have said anything.”  Yuri muttered. 

 

“Yeah?”  Yuri peeked through his fingers to see his best friend grinning at him. “I hope you remember this tomorrow, Yura.”

 

“I’m not drinking, I’m literally writing a paper, you fuck!”  He snapped, spinning his computer around for emphasis. 

 

It would have worked, too, except it was open to Youtube. He was looking at choreography, not actually writing his paper. He and Katsuki had been working on his exhibition (Yuri would have done it himself if he wasn’t so fucking useless at anything that wasn’t ballet).  

 

“Good paper you’ve got going there.  How many pages does it have to be?” 

 

Yuri groaned, but he was smiling now, too. 

 

Nothing changed, and Yuri was kind of thankful. They went back to their individual work.  Yuri didn’t start his paper, but he did return his earbuds to his ears. Katsuki had told him to get a feel for what he felt comfortable doing. He wasn’t a fan of bringing hip hop to the ice, but Yuri swindled him into it by reiterating a million times that it was only an exhibition. 

 

“Hey, Otabek?”  He took an earbud out and looked up. Otabek removed his headphones and let them rest around his neck. “I don’t remember our first kiss.”

 

“We won’t count it.”  He said, bemused. 

 

“Ok, but can we count this one?”  He cocked his head to the side curiously. 

 

Otabek raised an eyebrow. 

 

“Which one?”

 

“The one you’re about to give me.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. I'm posting this now and after the holidays (like Christmas and probably New Year's, too) we'll start the New Year with the final chapter!


	7. Epilogue

Yuri’s eyes looked like a smattering of gold. Well…more honestly, they looked like Georgi pre-retirement (and probably post) had done his makeup. The green in his eyes popped, though, so he wouldn’t complain. It also went along with his self-imposed mentality for his short program. 

 

He could only hope his skating was better than his makeup application. 

 

“Yuuri, can you believe our students both made it to the final?”   _ Here we go again.  _ “It’s like we’re competing against each other again!”

 

“Can you not live vicariously through Yuri and Otabek’s relationship right now?”  Thank god for Katsuki. 

 

He made eye contact with his coach in the mirror and offered a smile. Katsuki smiled back. Viktor turned, as if suddenly remembering he was there for Otabek at all and left the two of them alone again. 

 

“How is it going?”  Yuri asked. 

 

“They’re just about ready to start it seems.  They’ve got the first two ready in the wings.”  Yuri nodded, looking back at the mirror again. “You feel ok?”

 

“I iced my knees before my stretches.”  Yuri told him, as if his coach hadn’t already seen that. It was just to prevent the potential for pain, but they both knew he’d probably be fine at this point. He was nearly a full year beyond that first PT appointment. 

 

Now he had his little reflective heat wrap on it to keep it warmed up and from getting stiff while he waited. 

 

“Good.”  Yuuri smiled. “Glad I didn’t have to remind you this time.”

 

“Yeah—uh—“  Suddenly distracted by movement out of the corner of his eye, he realized Viktor was gathering Otabek’s things. That meant he was getting ready to move.  

 

Yuri sought him out as he stood up to go stretch again. It wouldn’t do good to keep sitting around, the time would fly by. This was only the short program, after all. 

 

“Beka,”  Yuri caught him by the wrist. Otabek looked down at him, surprised. They hadn’t competed on the same ice yet as a couple.  They’d had different assignments. “Good luck.”

 

Otabek nodded. 

 

“I’ll watch from the screen.”  He nodded up to one of the tvs in the room. 

 

“Good luck to you if I don’t see you.”  Otabek kissed his temple. 

 

When his boyfriend left, Yuri turned over his shoulder to look at his coach. 

 

“Well, you going to finish warming up?”  He raised an expectant eyebrow. 

  
  


____

  
  
  


“—finishing with a combined score of 288.73—“

 

Yuri almost jumped out of his seat. He’d done well, but he hadn’t thought he’d done that well. He’d still been running on the shock of making it into the final at all, especially after last year. He turned to his coach, eyes wide.  

 

“—He will move to first place with only two skaters left.”

 

Katsuki nodded to the camera, but leaned in. 

 

“Enough of a comeback for you?”

 

“Don’t make me cry on a live stream.”  He made the little kitten plush in his hand wave at the camera and tried to force a smile even though really all he wanted to do was cry with relief. 

 

He had just solidified a podium finish. It didn’t matter if he didn’t take gold.  Otabek and some Japanese skater were the last two to skate. He’d happily let both of them place over him at this point, because he didn’t think he’d even get this far.

 

“Come on, let’s get you changed.  Someone else is going to need the kiss and cry in a bit—“

 

“Beka!”  Yuri shouted as he caught sight of his boyfriend approaching the ice.  “Skate your best, don’t make it easy for me!”

 

People between the two of them certainly heard, as did fans behind him  He heard excited giggles and whispers exchanged above him, but the eyes of those below him and next to Otabek were the ones he felt judgement from.  

 

Especially Viktor.  Asshole just  _ looked _ like he was judging him, that stupid smirk.  

 

“I know you hate to hear it,”  Yuuri began, tugging him back down to the changing rooms. “But you and Otabek might actually be worse than Viktor and I.”

 

“I haven’t tackled him to the ice and risked a head injury yet, so I would say we aren’t.”  

 

They reached the back slowly, both of them carrying their fair share of bags. Yuri’s jacket wasn’t zipped and he was absolutely frozen because of it, having left the ice sweaty. It didn’t help, but once the adrenaline of competing wore off, he was reminded again of the fact his shirt was completely sheer save for criss-crossing black, pleather straps that made it look almost like a straightjacket. 

 

“What did I miss?”  He rushed to get into view of a screen so he could watch the ice, leaving Yuuri to fuss about his student catching pneumonia for not taking care of himself. “Kats—coach, stop, you’re blocking my view!”

 

A towel was covering his face. 

 

“Dry off, then worry about your boyfriend.”  He was scolded lightly. “He looks good. I’d be surprised if he doesn’t maintain a placing.”

 

Otabek had held second after the short program, not surprising this season.  He and Viktor seemed to click well. Less than a year together, he already had Beka reaching new personal bests and pushing limits on world records.

 

Yuri hurried to dry any semblance of sweat that could freeze and fixed his eyes to the bottom of the screen in time for the final score.

 

Otabek had just barely missed his own score.  288.51.

 

Yuri made eye-contact with his coach and couldn’t help the small smile.  That was his boyfriend, but this was still competitive.

 

One skater left.

  
  


____

  
  


“This…this isn’t your costume?”  Otabek looked him over. 

 

Yuri could imagine the confusion, but was a little surprised. Beka had been the one to choreograph a whole new exhibition with him once upon a time. Surely, he wasn’t so shocked that he had a second exhibition choreographed.

 

Like, yeah, ok. It was weird, but his best friend— _ boyfriend _ !  His  _ boyfriend  _ should know him better than that.

 

“It is now.”  Yuri smiled, fixing the little shoulder tassels (there was a name for them he was forgetting, but Viktor kept saying it) in the mirror. “Katsuki helped me with it. I wasn’t going to unveil it until it was finished though, so I just kept my program from last season for my exhibition originally.”

 

He hadn’t really used it much, anyways. 

 

“Oh.”  He blinked. “What music is it to?”

 

“You’ll see.”  

 

Yuri spun around on his heel, losing balance for a moment on the dumb carpet slipping. He caught himself on Otabek’s shoulders and smiled before leaning up for a kiss, as if that had been his plan all along. 

 

“You’ll know it.”

 

_ He’d better know it, he remixed it. _

 

“You’re going to be cold.”  Amusement shone bright in dark eyes, Yuri had always loved that.  His own eyes, he thought, never shined that much. 

 

“Girls wear less on the ice.  I’m in pants.”

 

“You ok being so flamboyant?”  A blush spread across his face when Beka kissed his nose. 

 

“Fuck off!”  He snapped, “I think it’s a hot fucking shirt, ok?  So what if it’s cropped?”

 

“Very you.” Beka agreed with him.

 

It  _ was  _ cropped and so what if it was a little…childish. Katsuki had commented that he would look like he was still in his emo phase when Yuri had suggested the design. It was  _ supposed _ to be almost princely.  It had the silly little braided ropes on the shoulder and the little tassels hanging from the side. The front had double-breasted buttons painted down it, though purposefully distressed, in a black pseudo-replica of Prince Charming’s costume from Cinderella. 

 

It  _ was _ cropped, but to be fair his pants were (as usual) not low-riding so it wasn’t as if anything other than the fact it was short sleeved made a difference. 

 

It was supposed to be playful, despite the dark colors. He had been lightly inspired by the idea of an old-military-uniform-meets-classic-punk-rock-meets-modern-day. 

 

It looked sick. He’d perform on a stage like this. 

 

“Your hair is different.”  Slicked back on one side, braided, and tucked behind the other side (which had been left loose).

 

“You could do this if you grew your hair out.” Yuri teased, double checking for flyaways in the mirror.

 

“Grow my hair out?”  Otabek said, very slowly, as if talking to an idiot. “Like grow out my undercut?  So I can go for a faux undercut?”

 

“At least I don’t walk around looking like a douche ninety-percent of the time.”  Yuri stuck his tongue out. 

 

Otabek caught his wrist and surprised him by tugging him forward, letting their bodies press flush together when he was caught. 

 

“You love it.”  

 

“Only because you’re not.”  Yuri pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Ready to go? I’m sure they’re looking for us.”

 

“They” were their coaches, and they were trying to find them. In fact, they were outside their hotel door about to knock when Otabek and Yuri exited, bags rolling behind them. 

 

Katsuki made a comment off-hand, relieved they were at least already dressed if they were going to be so late. Viktor paid no attention.  

 

The trip to the rink was too long.  Yuri was already itching to get on the ice, a fact his coach noticed almost immediately with an expression of fondness.

 

“If anyone asks, you choreographed this.”  He teased lightly, taking his things. There wasn’t much in way of professional need for a coach before an exhibition, other than moral support and stuff-holder.  Yuuri knew his student didn’t need extra help this time. They’d been working on this for months, since Yuri initially decided he wanted to surprise Otabek by using his music.  They’d agreed on keeping it playful, low-stress, nothing flashy in the way some people did. It would be fun to watch but nothing worth competitively, “as it should be.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”  Yuri joked back, rolling his eyes as he handed over his skate guards.  

 

He chose not to look at his boyfriend, at least at the start.  Once the cheers died down and the music started, he kind of had to focus anyways so it wasn’t as much of an issue.  Yuri was thankful Otabek specialized in club remixes because this song would have been hard to work in choreo to if he hadn’t.  As it were, he and Katsuki had struggled. Yuri wasn’t good at any sort of hip hop-esq move and Yuuri wasn’t particularly good at adapting them to ice (though, he was good at it in the studio).  

 

“I mixed that for you.”  Otabek murmured, there as soon as he stepped off the ice.  Yuuri hurried him out of the way in order to pass off skate guards and clear the way for any one else that still has to get to the ice.  

 

“I know.  I skated to it…”  Yuri paused with a soft sort of smile he didn’t often show.  “For you.”

 

He leaned up to connect their lips the moment they had any semblance of “privacy,” which really just meant they had a moment in the shadows cast in the dimly lit area of the hall right before the lockers.  

 

“And, a little bit for me.”  He admitted sheepishly. “I really like the song, and the way you did it, the lyrics do kind of represent me a little better.  This season was kind of a joke, honestly. I know we’re already halfway through, but I really didn’t think I’d make it this far.  Seriously, who the fuck comes back from an injury in less than a year and--”

 

“Plenty of people.”  Otabek raised an eyebrow.

 

“Well, fuck them, they don’t count.  As I was saying, though,” He stuck his tongue out playfully, “I didn’t think I’d get here, but I wanted to skate to that and I wanted it to mean something to me even if no one else knew.”

 

“What did it mean?  To you, I mean.”

 

“I spent a lot of time this past year thinking.  I learned a lot about what I wanted, even though I lost some parts of me along the way.  I remembered how much I depended on skating just emotionally, not even with regards to money.  And I don’t know, ok? It’s shitty to say but it’s been a year of self-discovery and that’s what this was.  I think you knew me before I knew me. I think you know me better than I know myself, still. I think what you saw in the remix you produced that reminded you of me really is a huge part of who I am.”

 

“Stop trying to be so insightful.”  His coach returned from wherever he’d disappeared to with his water bottle freshly refilled and handed it over.  Turning to Otabek, he added, “He nearly titled his free skate ‘Origin’ and I told him he couldn’t steal my program--”

 

“I corrected myself!”  Yuri snapped “I said that you were right and it didn’t fit the program I imagined so I said I’d call it ‘Chrysalis’--”

 

“I told him he’s keeping the original title, I don’t care how different the music sounds or whether or not the new scoring has the melody all the way through.”  Yuuri finished “Drink your water, Plisetsky. But, I am not letting anyone title anything ‘Chrysalis’ so long as I’m their coach. I haven’t heard anything more unoriginal since Viktor skated Tosca and Moonlight Sonata in the same season.”

 

“I will have you remember that it was actually a medley used in the same program and therefore very original!”  Of course, if Yuuri was there, Viktor was never far behind.

 

“It was a trainwreck, I’m sorry.”  Yuuri informed him. 

 

“This was a story about me five minutes ago, but as per usual, it’s turned into the ‘Viktor Nikiforov Biography.’”  Yuri grumbled, sipping obediently from his water. “Anyways, Beka, it was like a concept album. It started with what I wanted to be, what I became, and today I completed it with who I am--”

 

“Do you understand now why we couldn’t name it ‘Chrysalis?’”  

 

“Your coach is right, Yura, that’s a terrible name.”

 

“Ok, thank you for your input. I really appreciate it.”  His tone was snappy, but he cracked a smile when Otabek ruffled his hair.   

 

_ Are you proud of me? _

 

Yuri didn’t really want validation in the traditional sense.  He didn’t want to know he’d done well by winning. He didn’t care that he’d made the smart decision and not titled anything.  Really, it didn’t even matter that he skated the exhibition. For the first time in a long while, he was proud of himself. He didn’t actually care about the score and ok, maybe because the money didn’t matter the same way it used to.  This could go straight home, part of it could go straight into savings. He wasn’t going to be completely scraping by to get the funds for the next event and the next event.

 

Otabek understood, the way he always did.  He gave Yuri’s hand a reassuring squeeze, an answer to his unasked question, while they watched their coaches bicker.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided I’m dedicating this story because I’m an asshole like that so. 
> 
> This story is dedicated to late night FaceTime calls, the frustration of reaching voicemail, and the the anticipation of slow-to-respond texts. It’s in memory of disconnected/failed calls and poor service, to the irritating truth that adulthood means you can’t drop all responsibilities and fly across the country with finances you don’t have (except I’m doing exactly that at the end of March lol). If you’ve ever had a best friend like acaibowlfatale who is three hours behind you (and almost never awake when you are) then you can relate. She has supported me through everything (including writing this fic) and many of the text conversations in this story are copy-and-pasted and some scenarios are taken from our real lives. I don’t know why I’m getting sappy in an author’s note but here we are. Thank you for being there at all hours and I can’t wait until we see each other again. 
> 
> Anyone reading this is going to think we’re dating now, nothing new. Also, I realize as I’m editing this (aka I just googled it) that my visit lines up exactly with the end of World’s? Wow this fic really conveniently depicts our life. 
> 
> I’d also like to dedicate this lovely work of fan fiction to theoriginalzinc and hey_renee who have, together with acaibowlfatale, taught me that there’s a lot more to life than I could have imagined. Also, for their unwavering support and reassurance that no matter what I do in life, they’ll be with me every step of the way. Theoriginalzinc also contributed to this story, writing Yuri’s failed free skate when he hurts his knee for me because honestly I don’t really know what an ice skate is. She also helped with scoring, though we used the old system because I started writing this pre 2018-2019 season and the new scoring system hadn’t existed yet so she didn’t know what it would really look like in practice. 
> 
> Also to Izilen, the incredible artist who worked with me on this Big Bang. I’m so sorry I fell behind. I wanted to have so much done so much faster to make your life easier but then life came and bit me in the butt. You’re incredible for all of the hard work you put in and also for your input into the story. You fought through the struggles of moving and an injured wrist and dealt with me not getting my stuff together. Especially early on, Izilen was one of the first people to know what this story was going to be and offered all sorts of ideas and support to make it better. At some point, I started typing the handle wrong so just ignore me but that’s bookofstars on the Tumblr. Please go follow!
> 
> To all of you! I loved your comments and kudos! Getting to hear all your favorite parts was so exciting. I'm sorry the epilogue just tapes on wrapping paper and doesn't tie a bow. I liked the idea of loose ends.
> 
> Thank you to the organizers of this bb. I really loved being a part of it! The other writers and artists, too. I didn’t interact a ton in the discord but I loved getting to see bits and pieces of your writing and also just random recommendations. The artists alone had me in awe because they’d just post these insane sketches back to back and be like “okay folks, what are we feeling” and I’m like “all of them? I can’t draw so like all of these, please.” Just— the whole experience was so much fun!
> 
> There are little Easter eggs to find throughout this story: real dancers, skaters, titles, and choreographers mostly. 
> 
> The title of this fic is taken from the lyrics to the free skate during his season post-injury, though he uses an instrumental that’s been reworked almost beyond recognition, as he tells Otabek. None of the musical choices exist in the arrangements I have in my head. I’m sorry, I’d post them here if they did. But! If you guess his free skate, you can probably guess his short program...
> 
> It’s funny. When I decided this was the story I wanted to write, the only thing that hit close to home was long distance friendships. By the end, I had included so much of my past four years that it was kind of therapeutic. It certainly helped me get my mind on track to where I want to be next. So without further ado!
> 
> Having completed this, next works include:  
> \- Last chapter of “Ribbons”  
> \- Future installations of the “Podium Children” series (stuff is going to maybe get wild)  
> \- Possibly another equestrian AU?  
> \- More outtakes from this fic and also probably some future snippets as well. I had a lot of planning in this, built a whole mental world. The story is only "done"
> 
>  
> 
> Let me know!  
> Find me as as [ letsbringmomback ](%E2%80%9C) on Tumblr.  
>  Curious Cat  just for kicks, but my Tumblr is open to anonymous.   
> For more crazy college quotes like #katsudonontheedge, meet [ Quotes by 9G ](%E2%80%9C)

**Author's Note:**

> All links in my Pseudo profile!  
> Find me on Patreon as [ Wunkind ](https://www.patreon.com/user?u=14554175)  
> Alternately as [ letsbringmomback ](%E2%80%9C) on Tumblr.  
>  Curious Cat  just for kicks, but my Tumblr is open to anonymous.


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